THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


9UM£R 


COLLECTl 


BESSIE  AND  RAYMOND 


INCIDENTS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  CIVIL  WAE 


the  United  states 


BY  THE   AUTHOR  OF 


'"Kate  Felton,"  "Elfie  Grafton,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED    BY    EDWARD    PAYSON   WESTON, 

Fou  Sale  p>y  Cbookeb  and  Brewster, 

5 1  Wa suinoton  Street. 

18GG. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

MRS.     MARIA     WESTON, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


TO   THE   PATRONS   OF   THIS   WORK. 

THE     AUTHOR 

RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBES  IT. 

She  does  so,  with  the  hope  that  it  may  be  read  with  interest 
and  profit  by  such  as  sympathize  witli  her  in  loving  the  dear 
old  "  Stars  and  Stripes."  A  deep-plotted  romance  need  not 
be  expected ;  therefore,  such  as  are  looking  for  a  number  one 
novel  will  be  disappointed.  The  work  is  calculated  to  exhibit  life 
as  it  was  in  our  country  during  the  late  Rebellion.  We  have  used 
fictitious  names  in  stating  facts,  and  have  endeavored  to  write  so 
as  to  avoid  giving  offence  to  any  who  may  recognize  incidents 
in  which  their  words  and  act  have  been  given  to  the  public. 
The  author  loves  her  country,  a  united  North  and  South ;  such 
she  would  ever  have  it,  by  the  blessing  of  God. 

Providence,  October  1,  1865. 


603307 


BESSIE  AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  I  did  not  know  she  could  be  so  brave. » 

"  Mother,  I  am  going  to  enlist  under  our  dear  old 
flag.  I  am  ashamed  to  stay  here  at  home,  when  my 
country  needs  the  services  of  her  sons,  as  she  does  at 
this  hour." 

"Are  you  sure,  Frederic,  that  the  Government 
needs  you  ?  Many  thousands  of  soldiers  have  gone 
forth,  already;  perhaps  it  will  not  be  necessary  for 
more  to  go." 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  be  ;  still,  there  is  little  founda- 
tion upon  which  to  build  such  a  hope.  Mother,  this 
is  a  gigantic  Rebellion  ;  it  will  require  a  great  force  to 
crush  it ;  I  want  to  do  something  towards  it  myself. 
I  must  go  forth  to  battle,  and  I  desire  your  help  in 
reconciling  my  wife  to  the  parting.  I  believe  you 
will  not  try  to  hold  me  back  yourself,  much  as  you 
love  me." 

"  You  judge  rightly,  my  son  ;  much  as  I  dread  the 
horrors  of  war  that  must  surround  you,  I  dare  not 
withhold  my  consent  to  your  taking  up  arms  in  de- 
fence of  our  Government.  I  will  do  all  in  my  power 
to  make  it  easy  for  you  to  go.  Julia,  I  trust,  will  not 
oppose  you,  in  doing  what  you  feel  to  be  your  duty. 
She  can  come  and  stay  with  me  while  you  are  away,  and 
1* 


6  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

I  will  assist  her,  in  taking  care  of  her  children.     Have 
you  told  her  your  intentions  in  regard  to  enlisting  ?  " 

" 1  have  not  yet  told  her  my  decision  ;  I  have  merely 
told  her  I  felt  inclined  to  join  the  army.  I  dont  know 
what  she  will  say,  when  she  knows  that  I  have  deter- 
mined to  go.  I  hate  to  tell  her  myself ;  I  wish,  mother, 
that  you  would  do  the  disagreeable  job  for  me." 

"  I  will,  my  son." 

"  Will  you  do  so  to-day,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Frederic,  I  will  go  to  Julia,  immediately." 
And  Mrs.  Sedgwick  went,  on  the  wings  of  love  and 
sympathy,  to  the  home  of  her  son.  When  she  entered 
his  dwelling,  and  beheld  his  wife  seated  in  her  cheer- 
ful sitting-room,  with  busy  fingers  and  a  happy  coun- 
tenance, working  for  the  comfort  of  her  husband,  while 
two  sweet  children  were  at  play  near  her,  a  pang  shot 
through  the  heart  of  the  kind  mother,  as  she  thought 
of  her  errand.  There  was,  too,  something  like  restraint 
in  her  manner,  as  she  reciprocated  the  affectionate 
greeting  of  Julia,  and  Julia  saw  at  once  that  some- 
thing troubled  her  mother,  and  kindly  asked  her  if 
anything  had  occurred  to  cause  her  uneasiness. 

"No,  Julia,"  she  replied,  "I  cannot  say  that  the 
occurrence  of  any  recent  event  has  caused  me  pain, 
but  the  anticipation  of  future  trial  has  cast  a  shade  of 
sadness  over  my  heart.  I  didn't  intend,  however,  to 
sadden  you  with  my  sorrow,  I  must  not  be  so  selfish." 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  had  taken  a  seat,  and  lifted  the 
youngest  of  Julia's  children  into  her  lap,  while  she 
was  uttering  the  words  above  quoted. 

Little  Alice,  the  pet  of  the  whole  family,  peeped 
into  the  face  of  her  grandmother,  with  a  loving  look, 
saying,  as  she  did  so,  "I  wont  let  grandma  feel  sorry." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  7 

"I  know  you  wouldn't,  my  little  darling,  and 
grandma  mustn't  do,  say,  or  look  anything,  to  pain 
your  infant  heart." 

"Mother,"  asked  her  daughter-in-law,  "has  Fred- 
eric been  saying  anything  to  you,  to  give  you  pain?" 

"  Why  ask  me  such  a  question,  Julia  ?  " 

"  Because  I  did  n't  know  but  he  had  told  you,  as  he 
has  me,  that  he  felt  almost  certain  he  ought  to  enlist 
under  the  stars  and  stripes." 

The  tone  in  which  Julia  uttered  these  words  was 
cheerful,  and  Mrs.  Sedgwick  experienced  a  feeling  of 
relief,  as  she  listened  to  them. 

"  Do  you  feel,  daughter,  that  you  could  submit 
cheerfully  to  the  trial  of  parting  with  Frederic,  if  he 
should  take  up  arms,  and  go  forth  to  fight  for  his 
country  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  yet  been  tried,  so  I  don't  know  how  I 
should  feel.  I  know  what  my  duty  would  be  in  such 
a  case,  and  I  will  pray  for  strength,  to  bear  whatever 
of  ill  this  war  may  bring  upon  me.  I  will  try,  if  Fred- 
eric feels,  either  now  or  at  some  future  time,  that  he 
must  go,  to  help  him  all  I  can  to  do  his  duty." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,"  said  her  mother-in- 
law  ;  "  nry  heart  misgave  me,  when  I  first  came  in,  and 
saw  you  so  happy  in  your  little  family.  I  almost  re- 
pented of  the  promise  I  had  made  Frederic,  to  tell 
you,  what  he  shrunk  from  telling  you  himself,  that  he 
is  going  to  the  war  ;  but  now  I  feel  that  you  will  not 
be  shocked,  or.  go  into  hysterics,  at  learning  the  fact." 

Julia  looked  earnestly  into  her  mother's  face  while 
she  was  speaking,  then  remarked  thoughtfully,  "  He 
has,  then,  decided  to  go.  I  thought  it  was  more  than 
possible  that  he  would  go,  and  I  have  been  preparing 


<5  BESSIE    AXD   RAYMOND. 

myself  for  the  trial.  I  have  thought  of  you,  too, 
dear  mother,  in  regard  to  the  liabilities  of  your  son's 
going  forth  to  battle,  and  have  dreaded  the  trial  as 
much  for  you  as  for  myself." 

"  We  will  sympathize  with  each  other,  Julia,  in  this 
mutual  trial  that  is  near  us  now." 

Here  these  two  friends  were  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  a  young  lady,  who  was  ushered  into  the 
room  by  a  servant ;  her  name  was  Bessie  Jenkins,  and 
she  had  for  some  years  been  an  intimate  acquaintance 
of  Julia's.  Miss  Jenkins  greeted  the  two  ladies 
politely,  then  having  taken  a  seat,  she  abruptly  intro- 
duced a  subject  that  seemed  to  engross  all  her 
thoughts. 

"  I  am  so  nervous  I  could  not  stay  at  home,"  said 
she,  addressing  Julia,*"  or  I  should  n't  have  called  on 
you  to-day." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Julia,  smiling  as  she  spoke, 
"  what  has  occurred  to  affect  you  thus  ?  You  are  not 
wont  to  complain  of  your  nerves." 

"  I  know  I  am  not,  but  at  present  Rajmiond  seems 
determined  to  trouble  Tiie  all  he  can." 

"Raymond  trouble  you,  Bessie?  What  about,  I 
wonder.  I  thought  it  was  just  the  reverse  of  that ; 
that  you  tried  to  vex  him." 

Bessie  laughed  at  this  remark  of  her  friend.  "  I 
don't  think  you  ought  to  say  that,  Mrs.  Sedgwick, " 
answered  she,  "  and  yet  I  suppose  you  feel  that  you 
have  reason  to  think  I  am  a  teasing  girl."  Here  she 
paused,  for  memory  was  busy  at  this  moment  display- 
ing many  little  acts  of  coquetry  of  which  she  had 
been  guilty.  After  a  moment's  silence,  she  said  in  a 
disdainful  tone,  ".  Mrs.  Sedgwick,.  Raymond  has  re- 
solved to  go  to  the  war  ;  is  n't  it  ridiculous  ?  " 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  9 

"  Ridiculous,  to  go  out  to  defend  our  dear  old  flag  ? 
why,  no,  it  is  brave  and  glorious,  I  am  sure." 

"  Let  it  be  brave  and  glorious,  as  you  say,"  re- 
sponded Bessie,  in  an  offended  tone  ;  "  If  your  husband 
were  to  go,  you  would  n't  see  the  glory.  Mr.  Sedg- 
wick has  n't  gone,  and  perhaps  never  will  go." 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  Mr.  Sedgwick  intends  going  soon  ; 
this  very  hour  I  have  learned  his  decision." 

"  And  you  mean  to  let  him  go,  without  trying  to 
prevent  it,  Mrs.  Sedgwick  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed,  intend  to  let  him  do  what  he  feels  to 
be  his  duty,  in  regard  to  serving  his  country." 

"Serving  his  fiddlestick,"  interrupted  Bessie; 
"  now  I  am  more  vexed  than  ever,  for  I  had  hoped  you 
would  have  befriended  me  in  this  great  trial ;  but  I  see 
that  I  shall  not  have  your  sympathy,  if  I  am 
wretched." 

Julia  smiled,  but  did  not  reply.  Bessie  paused  a 
moment,  and  then  inquired  if  Julia  had  counted  the 
cost  of  having  her  husband  leave  her  to  be  exposed  to 
the  horrors  of  war. 

"  I  think  I  have  looked  at  the  subject  in  every  light 
in  which  I  am  capable  of  viewing  it." 

"  Then  you  have  reflected  that  he  may  be  wounded 
and  crippled  for  life  ;  that  he  may  possibly  lose  an  eye, 
or  be  disfigured  terribly  in  some  other  way  1 " 

"  Yes,  I  have  weighed  all  his  liabilities  ;  yet,  while 
I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  what  may  befall  him,  I 
dare  not  put  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  enlisting." 

"How  will  you  feel,  think  you,  if  you  have  a 
maimed  companion  to  walk  the  journey  of  life  with, 
instead  of  your  handsome  Frederic  ?  " 

",  Sad,  at  the  thought  of  the  suffering  of  my  hus- 


10  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

band  ;  but  he  will  be  my  dear,  handsome  Frederic, 
always.  His  noble  soul  will  be  reflected  in  his  coun- 
tenance, even  should  it  be  scarred  by  wounds." 

"  Would  not  your  pride  be  wounded  to  have  him 
return  to  you  disfigured  by  wounds  received  in  bat- 
tle?" 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest  in  asking  such  a  question, 
Bessie  ;  you  cannot  be.  How  could  my  pride  be 
wounded  at  such  a  thing  ?  Impossible  !  Why,  I 
should  be  more  tempted  to  be  proud  of  my  Frederic 
than  ever.  I  should  be  hurt,  yes,  my  heart  would 
bleed,  to  see  my  husband  return  to  me  wounded  in 
character  ;  to  see  him  morally  disfigured.  But  every 
physical  wound  will  render  him,  in  my  view,  more 
lovely  ;  will  make  me  love  him  more." 

"  I  don't  feel  so  ;  I  don't  want  to  be  married  before 
Raymond  goes  away,  for  fear  he  may  lose  a  leg,  or  an 
arm,  or  in  some  way  be  disfigured,  and  then  I  should 
be  obliged  to  be  tied  up  to  him  during  life.  He  don't 
like  it  because  I  am  unwilling  to  be  married  ;  but  I 
can't  help  that ;  I  will  have  my  way  about  some 
things." 

Julia  did  not  reply  to  this  last  remark  of  Bessie's, 
for  the  reason  that  she  was  shocked  at  hearing  such 
sentiments  expressed  by  one  whom  she  had  considered 
a  kind-hearted,  though  rather  a  giddy  girl.  The  elder 
Mrs.  Sedgwick  did  not  feel  disposed  to  converse  with 
the  young  lady,  in  her  present  mood,  and  both  ladies 
experienced  a  sense  of  relief  when  the  door  warn 
opened  by  Frederic.  A  hasty  glance  at  the  coun- 
tenance of  his  wife  led  him  to  think  his  mother  had 
communicated  the  intelligence  he  had  wished  her  to 
receive  ;  still  he  queried,  for  there  was  something  like 


BESSIE    AtfD   RAYMOND.  11 

S'.orn  in  her  expression,  at  the  moment  he  entered  the 
room  where  Bhe  sat.  Her  expression  changed,  how- 
ever, the  instant  she  beheld  him,  and  her  soul  beamed 
i>i  her  eyes  as  he  approached  her  and  sat  down  by  her 
side.  He  requested  that  his  entrance  might  not  dis- 
turb the  conversation,  which  he  concluded  was  being 
carried  on  between  the  friends  ere  he  came  in. 

"  You  did  n't  interrupt  our  conversation,"  said 
Bessie,  as  Frederic  looked  at  her  as  he  was  speaking  ; 
"I  was  the  sole  speaker;  neither  your  mother  nor 
your  wife  thought  proper  to  answer  me,  so  I  had  the 
floor  entirely  to  myself." 

"  We  hardly  knew  how  to  reply  to  the  sentiments 
you  advanced  just  now,  Bessie.  I  can  truthfully 
affirm  that  I  did  not,  at  least,"  replied  Julia. 

"I  was  not  sure  a  reply  was  needed,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Sedgwick,  senior. 

"  Perhaps  there  was  not  any  need  of  answering 
me,"  said  Bessie,  as  she  arose  to  go. 

Her  leave-taking  was  somewhat  abrupt,  and  the 
mother,  wife,  and  husband  were  left  by  themselves. 


12  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Of  all  my  father's  family,  I  love  myself  the  best." 

Event  rapidly  succeeded  event,  at  the  time  our  story 
commenced.  Great  changes  took  place  in  family  cir- 
cles, within  wonderfully  short  spaces  of  time.  Every 
truly  patriotic  heart  glowed  with  enthusiasm  at  the 
thought  of  helping  to  sustain  our  noble  Government ; 
and  it  is  true,  too,  that  every  lover  of  his  or  her  coun- 
try endeavored  to  do  much  for  its  cause,  the  cause  of 
justice  and  humanity. 

Frederic  was  rejoiced  to  find  that  Julia  did  not  op- 
pose him,  in  his  plan  of  joining  the  army,  but  rather  en- 
couraged him  to  enlist,  by  her  cheerfulness.  His  mind 
was  thus  at  once  relieved  of  a  great  burden.  He  im- 
mediately executed  his  resolves  to  take  up  arms  in  his 
country's  service,  by  enrolling  his  name  as  a  private, 
in  a  regiment  that  was  being  raised  in  the  town  of 
Oak  Dale,  where  he  lived.  This  was  among  the  first 
three  years'  regiments,  that  were  raised  for  the  Union. 

Massachusetts  was  forward  in  responding  to  the 
President's  call  for  troops,  and  her  sons  have  made 
gallant  soldiers.  Among  these,  Frederic  Sedgwick 
and  Raymond  Philips  were  proud  to  rank  themselves  ; 
their  names  stood  enrolled  together.  Raymond  Phil- 
ips was  a  young  man  of  great  promise.  He  was  the 
eldest  son  of  a  family  of  five  children,  and  having  lost 
his  father  at  an  early  age,  he  had  been  a  great  comfort 
and  help  to  his  widowed  mother,  in  taking  care  of  her 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  13 

family.  By  his  aid,  she  had  been  enabled  for  several 
years  during  his  minority,  to  pursue  a  business  which 
had  been  so  lucrative  as  amply  to  support  herself  and 
children,  besides  allowing  her  to  lay  aside  something 
for  the  future.  When  Eaymond  attained  his  man- 
hood, his  mother  gave  up  the  business  to  him  entirely, 
and  he  had  continued  to  prosper.  He  was  accumu- 
lating property  steadily,  although  not  as  rapidly,  as 
some  men  make  money.  He  was  scrupulously  honest 
in  all  his  dealings,  and  would  rather  be  defrauded  him- 
self, than  be  the  means  of  defrauding  another.  His 
dry-goods  store  was  patronized  by  the  highest  class 
of  people  in  the  town  ;  for  his  polite,  cheerful,  accom- 
modating spirit  and  gentlemanly  manners,  made  him 
a  great  favorite  with  the  ladies. 

A  feeling  of  regret  was  expressed  by  his  many 
friends,  when  it  was  known  that  he  had  enlisted  in  the 
army.  It  did  not  take  long  for  the  news  to  spread 
throughout  the  circle  of  Raymond's  acquaintance. 

"  What  will  become  of  his  store  ?  ;;  was  a  question 
often  asked,  but  not  at  once  answered.  "  How  fool- 
ish,' '  said  some,  who  could  not  appreciate  his  motives 
of  action. 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  that  Raymond  Philips 
would  have  been  such  a  goose  as  to  leave  his  fine 
establishment,  and  go  to  war,  with  a  pay  of  only  thir- 
teen dollars  a  month  ;  it  is  strange  that  his  mother 
will  consent  to  such  a  wild  scheme." 

The  next  morning  a  young  lady  met  Bessie  in  the 
street,  and  asked  her  if  it  was  true  that  she  was  will- 
ing to  have  Raymond  go  as  a  private. 

"Why  ask  that  question?'7  interrogated  Bessie, 
somewhat  annoyed  by  it. 
2 


14  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Because,  if  I  were  you,  I  should  wish  him  to  have 
a  commission.' ' 

"A  commission  wouldn't  protect  him  from  bul- 
lets," replied  Bessie,  hastily. 

"  But  'tis  more  honorable  to  go  as  Lieutenant." 

Bessie  did  not  deign  an  answer  to  that  remark, 
and  the  lady  passed  on  ;  she  hastened  to  her  home, 
and  sought  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room.  She  had 
met  several  of  her  acquaintances  while  abroad,  and 
each  of  them  had  said  something  in  regard  to  Ray- 
mond's going  into  the  army  without  a  commission. 
Her  pride  had  been  wounded  at  the  idea  of  his  going 
as  a  private,  if  he  must  go  at  all.  She  was  unrecon- 
ciled to  his  running  any  risks,  by  being  exposed  in 
battle,  even  if  he  was  to  go  as  an  officer  of  high  rank ; 
but  the  humiliation  of  his  being  ranked  as  a  common 
soldier,  she  was  still  more  opposed  to  ;  and  then  to 
have  others  remark  upon  the  subject  to  her,  was  "  the 
unkindest  cut  of  all."  Bessie  threw  off  her  outside 
clothing,  and  sat  down  by  her  bed,  where  she  could 
rest  her  head  upon  the  pillows,  in  which  she  hid  her 
face.  As  she  sat  there  absorbed  in  her  own  sorrow, 
she  seemed  the  very  semblance  of  despair. 

How  long  she  would  have  kept  herself  secluded 
there  is  a  matter  of  conjecture  ;  probably  as  long  as 
she  could  have  lived  without  food,  had  not  her  sighs 
and  sobs  led  to  the  discovery  of  her  whereabouts. 
Her  entrance  to  the  house  had  not  been  observed  by 
any  of  her  mother's  family,  and  the  whole  household 
thought  that  she  was  still  abroad. 

Raymond  Philips  called  towards  evening  of  that 
day,  and  inquired  for  Bessie.  When  Mrs.  Jenkins 
learned  that  Raymond  had  not  seen  her  during  that 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  15 

day,  she  expressed  surprise,  as  Bessie  had  told  her 
she  intended  calling  on  his  mother. 

"  She  has  not  been  at  our  house  to-day/7  said  Ray- 
mond ;  "I  met  a  friend  of  Bessie's  this  morning,  and 
she  informed  me  that  she  had  just  had  an  interview 
with  her  in  the  street,  else  I  should  not  have  known 
she  had  been  out." 

Raymond  accepted  the  invitation  of  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
to  seat  himself  in  the  parlor,  and  wait  the  return  of 
her  daughter.  Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  and  still 
she  came  not.  Raymond  said  he  would  call  at  the 
houses  of  some  of  her  intimate  friends,  where  she 
might  perhaps  be  waiting  for  some  one  to  attend  her 
home.  Her  mother  approved  of  his  doing  so,  and  he 
hastened  to  go  in  search  of  the  individual  he  was  more 
anxious  to  see  at  that  time  than  any  one  else  on  earth. 
He  called  at  several  places,  but  learned  nothing  more 
than  he  already  knew  ;  then  turned  and  walked  again 
to  her  mother's,  hoping  that  Bessie  had  preceded  him 
there.  He  was  disappointed  at  finding  she  was  still 
absent,  and  sympathized  in  the  feeling  of  alarm  which 
her  mother  was  beginning  to  experience  on  her  daugh- 
ter's account. 

Bessie  had  two  brothers,  —  mere  youths,  —  who  had 
retired  to  rest  just  before  Raymond  returned  from  his 
fruitless  search  for  their  unhappy  sister.  The  chamber 
which  they  occupied  was  separated  from  Bessie's,  by 
a  thin  partition.  One  of  the  brothers,  less  inclined  to 
sleep  than  the  other,  heard  a  stifled  sob  soon  after  he 
laid  himself  down  ;  he  spoke  to  his  brother,  who  had 
already  fallen  asleep,  asking  what  the  noise  could 
mean. 

"Mean  what?  what  is  it   means  anything?"  in- 


16  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

quired  the  other,  startled,  and  anything  but  pleased  at 
being  awakened  so  suddenly.  The  tone  in  which  the 
boys  uttered  these  words  was  subdued,  on  account  of 
their  fears,  and  no  sooner  had  they  pronounced  them 
than  another  sob,  followed  by  a  deep  groan,  was 
heard.  The  eldest  of  the  brothers,  whom  we  will 
introduce  as  Willie,  jumped  out  of  bed  in  a  fright,  and 
hardly  stopping  to  dress,  ran  down  stairs,  followed  by 
his  brother  Albert.  They  ran  into  the  parlor,  where 
sat  Mrs.  Jenkins  and  Raymond,  vainly  striving  to 
conjecture  the  cause  of  Bessie's  absence  from  home. 

"What  is  the  matter,  boys?"  asked  their  mother, 
in  surprise,  as  she  noticed  the  pallor  of  their  coun- 
tenances. 

"Oh,  mother,"  exclaimed  Albert,  "we  heard  such 
an  awful  groan,  right  close  to  us,  up  stairs  ;  and  such 
a  loud  sob,  too,  that  we  were  so*  frightened  we 
co aid  n't  stay  in  bed  any  longer." 

"  What  ?  "  interrogated  his  mother. 

"  It  is  true,  mother/''  affirmed  Willie.  "  Albert  fell 
asleep  almost  as  soon  as  his  head  touched  his  pillow, 
and  as  I  was  lying  wide  awake,  I  heard  a  sob,  and  as 
it  made  me  feel  afraid,  I  woke  Albert,  and  afterwards 
we  heard  a  louder  sob,  and  such  a  dreadful  groan, 
too,  that  it  made  us  run  as  fast  as  we  could.  Don't 
make  us  go  up  stairs  again  to-night,  mother,  will 
you  ?  "  said  Willie,  beseechingly. 

"  Not  until  we  ascertain  the  source  from  whence 
the  sounds  proceeded  that  have  startled  you  so  much." 
She  arose  as  she  said  this,  and  asked  Raymond  to 
accompany  her  up  stairs.  He  did  so,  and  they  pro- 
ceeded immediately  to  the  chamber  the  boys  had  just 
left.      No  sooner  had   they   entered  it  than    a  loud 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  17 

hysterical  sob  fell  upon  their  ears,  which  caused  them 
both  to  start  and  look  at  each  other. 

"  That  noise  may  have  proceeded  from  Bessie's 
chamber,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins;  "it  sounded  as  if  it 
did,  certainly,"  she  continued,  as  she  hastened  to  the 
apartment.  She  tried  to  open  the  door,  and  found  it 
was  fastened  upon  the  inside.  Another  stifled  sob, 
with  a  deep  groan,  convinced  our  friends  that  the 
room  was  inhabited,  and  that,  too,  by  some  one  in 
distress. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  inquired  Raymond,  "  that  it 
is  Bessie,  who  appears  to-be  suffering  so  deeply  ?  " 

"Hardly,  I  should  think,  and  yet  it  may  be  ;  we 
know  not  what  may  have  occurred  to  trouble  her  ;  but 
she  will  answer  if  she  is  here.  Bessie,"  called  the 
affectionate  mother,  "  Bessie,  my  -  dear  daughter, 
open  the  door,  and  admit  me,  your  mother." 

No  answer,  however,  was  given  to  this  loving 
appeal,  save  another  half-suppressed  sob. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?  "  asked  Raymond  ;  "  will 
you  force  the  door  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  it  is  not  opened  at  once,"  at  the  same 
time  trying  it  with  considerable  force.  "  Bessie," 
she  again  called,  but  with  no  better  success  than 
before.  "  This  is  unaccountable,  I  must  confess," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Jenkins,  in  an  agitated  tone.  "Will 
you  open  this  door  in  some  way,  Raymond  ?  " 

The  young  man  was  glad  to, be  allowed  the  privi- 
lege, for  his  anxiety  to  learn  the  cause  of  this  mystery 
was  very  great.  He  pressed  against  the  door  with 
all  his  strength,  and,  as  it  was  fastened  with  a  button, 
the  fastening  gave  way  under  his  pressure,  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  they  entered  the  room.  At  first,  they  did 
2* 


18  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

not  perceive  Bessie,  as  she  was  partly  concealed  in 
her  crouching  position  by  the  bed  ;  yet  they  were*  not 
long  in  discovering  her,  and  great  was  their  surprise 
when  they  approached  and  spoke  to  her  without  her 
appearing  to  notice  their  presence.  Raymond  put  his 
hand  tenderly  upon  her  head,  and  parted  her  dishev- 
elled locks  ;  he  bent  over  her  in  affectionate  solicitude, 
and  begged  her  to  reveal  the  cause  of  her  great  suf- 
fering to  her  mother,  if  not  to  him. 

Her  mother  had  placed  the  lamp  upon  the  bureau 
that  stood  nearly  opposite  Bessie,  as  she  sat,  unmoved 
by  the  sympathy  that  was  expressed  by  her  two  best 
earthly  friends.  One  would  have  thought  it  impossi- 
ble for  one  so  young,  and  so  gentle  as  Bessie  had 
seemed,  to  resist  such  kindness  as  was  manifested  by 
her  mother  and  Raymond,  as  they  stood,  bending  sor- 
rowfully over  her.  She  did  resist,  however,  for  a 
long  time,  every  effort  of  her  friends  to  gain  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  cause  of  her  present  situation.  Wearied 
by  their  fruitless  endeavors  to  procure  an  answer  from 
Bessie,  Mrs.  Jenkins  and  Raymond  sat  down,  and 
gazed  at  the  object  of  their  solicitude,  in  silence,  for 
some  time.  Then  Raymond  went  to  her  side  again, 
and  in  a  kind  but  firm  tone,  told  her  that  unless  she 
could  speak  and  acquaint  them  with  her  feelings,  he 
should  infer  that  she  was  physically  distressed,  and 
call  a  physician  without  delay. 

"  No,  no,  no,  you  shall  not,"  sobbed  out  Bessie  ; 
'Met  me  alone,  so  that  I  can  die,  nobody  will  care; 
it  is  no  matter  what  becomes  of  me." 

"My  dear  girl,"  exclaimed  Raymond,  "why  do 
you  talk  so  ;  what  has  happened  to  distress  you  so  ; 
tell  me,  do.     Do  tell  us,  Bessie,  what  troubles  you, 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  1(J 

for  it  pains  us  to  see  you  so,  without  being  able  to 
comfort  you." 

"  Come/1  said  Raymond,  using  gentle  force,  at  the 
instant,  to  raise  her  head;  "look  at  me,  and  see  if  I 
don't  look  as  if  I  cared  for  you." 

Bessie  strove  to  resist  him,  as  he  proceeded  to  lift 
her  in  his  arms  ;  "come,  come,"  said  he,  soothingly, 
"you  are  to  do  as  I  say,  just  for  a  little  while;  it 
would  be  cruel  in  me,  to  let  you  stay  here  alone,  in 
this  sad  plight.  You  must  go  down  stairs  with  your 
mother  and  me,  and  tell  us  all  about  your  great  sor- 
row, and  then  you  will  feel  better,  for  we  can  share  it, 
by  sympathy.77 

"  Just  as  if  you  don't  know  why  I  feel  bad,"  said 
this  selfish  girl,  in  a  sullen  tone. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  of  anything  that  ought 
to  affect  you  so,77  replied  Raymond,  kindly. 

"  Neither  do  I,77  remarked  her  mother  ;  "your  con- 
dition, Bessie,  puzzles  me  and  pains  me  at  the  same 
time.77 

"I  am  not  worth  being  troubled  about,7'  said  Bes- 
sie, "at  least,  Raymond  thinks  my  wishes  of  too 
little  consequence  to  be  regarded,  else  he  would  n't 
oppose  me  in  everything  as  he  does." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  exclaimed  Raymond,  "  do  tell  me 
what  I  have  done,  to  trouble  you  so  very  much.  Are 
you  really  so  unwilling  to  have  me  go  out  in  defence 
of  our  dear,  noble  old  flag?  I  thought  you -were 
patriotic,  Bessie." 

"  There  are  men  enough  to  go  to  war,  without  you," 
she  replied,  in  a  peevish  tone.  "  You  are  not  needed 
in  the  army  as  much  as  you  are  needed  at  home  ;  only 
think  how  lonesome  I  shall  be,  if  you  go  away  ;  you, 


20  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

who  have  been  always  near  to  go.with  me  wherever  I 
wished  to  go  ;  and  now,  to  thiok  that  you  care  no 
more  about  leaving  me  than  you  appear  to,  makes  me 
really  wretched." 

Then  again  tears  flowed  in  torrents  down  her 
cheeks,  and  her  sobs  again  became  audible.  Her 
brothers,  who  were  still  in  the  parlor,  looked  with 
wonder  upon  their  sister,  as  they  obeyed  their  mother's 
command  to  retire  to  bed. 

"  Bother  take  her,"  said  Albert,  "  such  a  fuss  got 
up,  to  frighten  a  poor  sleepy  fellow  half  out  of  his 
wits,  it  is  too  bad." 

"  So  it  is,"  muttered  Willie  ;  "I  wonder  if  Bessie 
thinks  there  is  nobody  in  this  world  but  herself?  " 

"  Like  enough,"  answered  his  brother;  and,  as  he 
laid  his  head  upon  his  pillow  once  more,  his  drowsy 
eyelids  closed,  and  he  was  floating  into  dreamland  ere 
the  two  words  had  fallen  from  his  lips. 

As  soon  as  the  two  boys  had  left  the  room,  Mrs. 
Jenkins  expressed  her  pent-up  feelings  of  sorrowful 
indignation,  caused  by  the  extraordinary  manifesta- 
tion Bessie  had  given  of  her  opposition  to  the  enlist- 
ment of  Raymond. 

"  Before  I  bid  you  good  night,"  said  the  mother,  as 
she  arose  to  follow  her  sons,  "  I  must  say,  Bessie,  that 
I  feel  that  your  actions  to-night,  added  to  your  stealthy 
entrance  into  the  house,  which  gave  us  so  much 
trouble,  is  almost  unpardonable.  I  did  not,  before 
this,  believe  you  were  so  selfish,  or  could  evince  so 
great  a  disregard  of  others'  feelings.  .  I  would  advise 
you,  Raymond,  to  leave  her  soon  to  her  own  reflec- 
tions, during  the  remainder  of  the  night,  if  but  little 
remains  of  it." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  21 

Mrs.  Jenkins  then  bade  her  and  Raymond  good 
night,  and  retired  to  her  own  room.  Raymond  was 
sorry  to  perceive  that  Bessie  did  not  return  the  part- 
ing salutation  of  her  mother,  as  he  felt  that  the  small- 
est breach  of  filial  duty  was  wrong.  His  own  heart 
was  strongly  enlisted  on  her  side.  He  loved  her 
devotedly,  and  his  love  aided  him  in  throwing  the 
mantle  of  charity  over  the  faults  he  could  not  hide 
from  his  judgment.  The  selfishness  of  Bessie  he 
endeavored  to  excuse  by  thinking  that  her  nervous 
system  was  at  fault,  and  therefore  her  weakness  over- 
came her.  She  would  feel  better  after  she  had  had  a 
long  fit  of  weeping,  so  he  would  not  leave  her  just 
then,  even  though  her  mother  had  suggested  his  doing 
so.  And  so  sat  Raymond,  looking  at  his  lady  love,  as 
she  sat  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  tears,  and  occasion- 
ally of  sobs  and  groans.  Poor  Raymond  !  he  was  one 
of  those  men  who  could  not  see  a  woman  weep  with- 
out striving  in  every  possible  way  to  comfort  her.  But 
all  his  efforts  now  were  unavailing.  If  he  took 
Bessie's  hand,  she  would  withdraw  it  immediately, 
saying,  "  0,  you  don't  care  anything  about  me."  If 
he,  by  gentle  words,  sought  to  divert  her  mind  from 
herself,  she  would  refuse  to  listen  to  his  pleadings  by 
renewing  her  loud  demonstrations  of  grief. 

At  length,  weary  of  expostulating  with  the  wilful 
girl,  whom  he  would  fain  believe  unselfish,  he  asked 
her  if  she  would  like  to  have  him  withdraw  his  name 
from  the  list  of  volunteers,  and  remain  at  home  for  her 
sake. 

She  did  not  reply  immediately,  but  her  tears  soon 
ceased  to  flow,  and  her  sobs  were  no  longer  heard. 
At  length  she  raised  her  head,  languidly,  and  looked 


22  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

at  Raymoud,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  suspicion 
and  trust  that  touched  his  sensitive  heart  to  the  core, 
as  she  asked,  in  a  dejected  tone,  "  Raymond,  are  you 
in  earnest  in  making  that  inquiry  ?  " 

"  I  am,  dear  Bessie,  entirely  sincere.  I  wish  you 
to  answer  me  frankly,  too.  Yet  do  not  give  me  your 
answer  to-night ;  I  wish  you  to  sleep  before  you  think 
any  more  upon  this  subject ;  afterwards,  take  time  to 
think  upon  it  calmly,  before  giving  me  your  decision." 

He  took  her  hand  while  he  was  speaking,  and  press- 
ing it  affectionately,  bade  her  good  night  too  hastily 
to  allow  her  time  to  speak.  He  did  not  wish  her  to 
say  any  more  upon  the  subject  that  had  agitated  her 
so  much  ;  he  preferred  she  should  consider  him  abrupt 
rather  than  do  so.     Thus  he  left  her. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  23 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Truth,  yet  stranger  than  fiction." 

On  the  following  morning,  as  Raymond  was  on  his 
way  to  his  place  of  business,  he  met  a  young  man 
willi  whom  he  was  intimately  acquainted. 

"  Good  morning,  Ray,"  said  Charles  Abbott  to 
Raymond,  in  a  lively  tone. 

"  Good  morning,  Charlie/'  said  Raymond,  returning 
the  salutation  in  a  less  animated  tone. 

"Why,  Ray,  what  is  the  matter  this  morning  with 
you  ?  You  surely  do  not  regret  having  enlisted,  do 
you?  I  hope  not,"  continued  the  young  man,  with- 
out giving  Raymond  an  opportunity  to  reply,  "  for  I 
never  felt  so  proud  of  anything  I  have  done  as  I  do 
of  enrolling  my  name  on  the  list  of  my  country's  vol- 
unteers." 

He  paused  to  take  breath,  and  Raymond  replied, 
saying,  "I  do  not  regret  enlisting,  Charlie,  but  I 
regret  circumstances  that  exist,  which  may  oblige  me 
to  withdraw  my  name  before  I  am  mustered  into  the 
United  States  service." 

"•  For  what  reason,  pray." 

"  Because  my  going  is  likely  to  result  in  great  evil 
to  one  I  love." 

"  Don't  your  mother  consent  to  your  leaving  her  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes  ;  mother  says  she  does  not  dare  to  hinder 
me  ;  but  Bessie,  the  lively,  gay-hearted  Bessie,  is  com- 
pletely overwhelmed  with  the  thought  of  my  joining 


24  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

the  army.  She  seems  to  have  an  uncommon  dread  of 
the  horrors  of  war.'7 

"  Pshaw  !  now,"  muttered  his  friend,  in  a  low  tone, 
making  some  effort  to  prevent  its  being  scornful. 
"I'm  sorry,"  said  he,  "very  sorry,  but  perhaps  she 
will  become  reconciled.  I'll  get  Minnie  to  talk  with 
her ;  Minnie  is  a  glorious  girl,  I  tell  you,  Raymond 
Philips.  She  strengthens  me  nobly  in  my  purpose,  I 
assure  you." 

"  All  are  not  constituted  alike,  Charlie  ;  I  suppose 
Minnie  has  stronger  nerves  than  Bessie." 

"  One  would  n't  think  so,  to  see  them  together.  To 
my  certain  knowledge,  Bessie  can  endure  twice  as 
much  physical  effort  as  Minnie  can.  Why,  don't  you 
remember  how  much  she  walked  and  exercised  in 
every  way,  at  the  May  party  the  other  day,  without 
apparent  fatigue,  and  how  she  laughed  at  Minnie 
because  she  was  forced  to  sit  down  and  rest  while 
herself  was  dancing  about  like  a  sprite  or  wood- 
nymph,  as  she  called  herself." 

"  I  know  *all  that,  Charlie,  but  if  you  had  seen 
Minnie  in  the  state  in  which  I  saw  Bessie  last  night, 
your  face  would  have  been  as  long  as  mine  is  this 
morning." 

"Perhaps  it  would,  Ray,  but  thanks  to  goodness, 
Minnie  is  not  a  drawback  to  my  usefulness  in  any 
sphere.  I  shall  call  on  Bessie,  with  Minnie,  this  very 
evening." 

"  Do,"  said  his  friend,  as  they  parted. 

On  that  evening,  true  to  his  promise  to  see  Bessie, 
Charlie  called  upon  her,  in  company  with  Minnie  and 
Frederic  Sedgwick  and  his  wife.  They  found  her 
alone.      She  sat  in  the  parlor,  expecting  Raymond 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  25 

every  moment.  Bessie  welcomed  her  friends,  yet  it 
would  be  too  much  to  say  that  she  welcomed  them 
cordially  and  sincerely,  although  she  would  undoubt- 
edly have  done  so  had  she  not  felt  their  presence  a 
rebuke  to  her  weak  selfishness.  She  had  heard  that 
both  Frederic  and  Charles  had  enlisted,  with  the  sanc- 
tion of  those  dearest  to  them,  and  she  dreaded  hear- 
ing- them  utter  a  word  in  regard  to  the  subject. 
Charles  knew  her  feelings,  and  Frederic  supposed 
she  was  somewhat  opposed  to  Raymond's  becoming  a 
soldier,  yet  did  not  dream  that  she  could  express  sen- 
timents in  sincerity,  such  as  she  had  expressed  to 
Julia  at  the  interview  with  which  we  are  all  familiar. 
Judge  then,  reader,  of  his  surprise,  when,  on  being 
asked  by  Charles  if  she  was  not  going  to  consent 
cheerfully  to  Raymond's  enlisting,  she  abruptly 
requested  him  not  to  mention  the  subject  of  war  in  her 
hearing. 

Just  at  the  moment  she  was  uttering  these  chilling 
words,  Raymond  entered  the  room.  His  entrance 
was  doubly  welcome  to  his  friends  who  were  feeling 
nonplussed  at  Bessie's  mood.  Raymond  shook  hands 
cordially  with  each  of  the  visitors,  and  taking  Bessie's, 
he  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  inquired  with  much  ten- 
derness how  she  was  feeling  then,  and  how  she  had 
rested  the  night  previous. 

"I  am  well  enough,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  "  and  you 
have  made  your  inquiries  respecting  my  night's  rest 
late  enough,  I  hope." 

"  I  heard  from  you,  through  your  brother  Willie, 
quite  early  in  the  day,  Bessie,  else  I  should  have  called 
on  you  sooner.     You  see  I  didn't  forget  you." 

To  this  pleasant  remark  Bessie   did  not  deign  any 


26  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

reply.  Her  mood  was  too  exacting  to  allow  her  to  be 
passably  polite,  even.  Raymond's  sensitive  spirit  felt 
her  unkindness,  but  his  loving  heart  tried  to  excuse  it. 

Charles  felt  unwilling  to  let  pass  this  opportunity  of 
trying  his  powers  of  rhetoric  upon  Bessie.  She  had 
repulsed  him  at  the  outset,  yet  he  did  not  feel  quite 
vanquished ;  he  therefore  ventured  again  to  speak 
upon  the  forbidden  subject  of  volunteering  to  serve  his 
country.  "  Bessie/'  said  he,  "  I  must  believe  that  you 
will  be  interested  in  my  going  to  the  war,  are  n't  you, 
now  ?  " 

'/ 1  asked  you  not  to  speak  upon  that  subject  in  my 
presence,  again,  Mr.  Abbott." 

"Mr.  Abbott,  is  it,  indeed?  I  have  always  been 
Charlie  to  you,  Bessie,  until  now  that  I  am  going  to 
the  war,  forsooth,  I  am  addressed  by  my  old  friend  as 
an  almost  stranger.  What  has  got  hold  of  you,  Bes- 
sie ?  tell  me,  do,"  he  urged  in  a  supplicating  tone. 

"You  know  already,"  retorted  Bessie  ;  "  and  you  had 
wellnigh  succeeded  in  getting  Raymond  to  join  you 
in  going  to  this  nigger  war.     I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

Charlie  laughed  heartily  at  thi&  outbreak  of  ill-feel- 
ing. "  Well,  now,"  said  he,  "  that  a  fellow  has  some- 
thing to  start  upon,  he  can  go  to  work,  and  try  to 
prove  himself  not  quite  as  bad  as  you  think.  I  had 
nothing  to  do  with  Raymond's  enlistment;  I  can  prove 
that  by  himself." 

'"  Indeed  he  can,"  said  Raymond. 

"  In  fact,"  proceeded  Charlie,  "  he  would  have  been 
more  likely  to  have  asked  me  to  enlist  than  I  him. 
But  now  as  this  subject  has  been  thus  unceremonious- 
ly brought  before  us,  I  would  be  glad  if  I  could  per- 
suade my  friend  Bessie  to  view  it  in  a  different  light." 

"  It  is  nothing  but  a  nigger  war." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  27 

"  I  don't  understand  that  term,  and  so  I  would  pass 
over  that  remark  of  yours  ;  for  it  is  in  regard  to  the 
duty  of  Raymond,  as  a  citizen  of  these  United  States, 
that  I  wish  you  to  see  differently,  Bessie.'' 

"  Duty  ;  I  hate  that  word  ;  I  detest  it  as  applied  to 
him  now." 

' '  Well,  say  inclination,  then,  if  you  like  the  sound 
of  that  word  better  ;  for  Raymond's  inclination  would 
certainly  lead  him  forth  in  defence  of  his  flag,  if  no 
insurmountable  object  should  be  placed  in  his  way." 

"  Surely,  Bessie,  you  will  not  be  the  one  to  hinder 
Raymond  from  doing  what  he  considers  right,"  said 
Minnie  ;  "  you  have  always  been  braver  than  I,  and  I 
can  say  to  Charlie,  go,  and  God  speed  you,  with  all 
my  heart ;  with  all  your  courage  you  can  say  more, 
can't'  you  ?  " 

"  People  can  say  almost  anything  they  choose  to  ; 
my  taste  does  n't  lead  me  to  desire  a  friend  to  be  maimed 
and  scarred  by  being  in  battle,  and  perhaps  a  cripple 
all  his  days,  beside." 

"  Neither  does  mine,"  replied  Minnie,  "  still,"  con- 
tinued she,  her  countenance  glowing  with  a  beautiful 
light  as  she  spoke,  "  if  it  should  be  the  fortune  of  my 
best  loved  friend  to  be  mutilated  while  fighting  for  the 
good  old  stars  and  stripes,  I  should  love  him  better  for 
every  scar." 

"  You  would,  I  suppose,  love  to  see  him  hobble 
about  on  crutches." 

"  No,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  Charlie  obliged  to  go 
about  on  crutches  ;  still,  if  he  had  been  made  lame  by 
doing  what  I  feel  is  right  he  should  do,  fight  for  the 
land  of  his  birth,  I  should  love  him  all  the  better,  be- 
cause he  was  obliged  to  'hobble  about,'  as  you  say.'' 


28  BlfSSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"  I  haven't  any  such  romantic  ideas  :  I  think  people 
had  better  stay  at  home,  and  let  the  Government  take 
care  of  itself.  As  for  Raymond,  he  shall  never  have 
my  consent  to  go  out  South,  to  be  disfigured.  You 
need  n't  say  anything  more  about  it,  for,  I  tell  you,  it 
will  be  the  death  of  me  if  he  goes." 

"  You  will  not  commit  suicide,  will  you,  Bessie  ?  " 
asked  Frederic,  who  had  listened  with  surprise,  not 
unmixed  with  disgust,  to  what  she  had  said.  "  If 
you  don't  conclude  to  do  that,  I  think  your  chance  for  life 
will  be  pretty  good,  even  should  Frederic  leave  you." 

This  was  spoken  in  a  playful  tone,  and  Charlie 
laughingly  told  Bessie,  that  he  should  not  be  afraid 
to  run  the  risk  of  insuring  her  life.  Julia  also  tried 
her  powers  of  persuasion  with  Bessie,  but  in  vain ; 
and  the  friends  were  obliged  to  take  leave  of-  her, 
with  very  unsatisfied  feelings. 

"  There  never  was  a  clearer  truth  uttered,  "  ex- 
claimed Charlie,  as  soon  as  the  door  of  Mrs.  Jenkins 
was  closed,  after  himself  and  friends  had  left  the  house, 
"than  that  the  present  state  of  our  country  reveals 
character.  I  never  was  more  disappointed  in  any 
young  lady,  than  I  am  in  the  one  we  have  just  left. 
Where  is  her  patriotism,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"She  hasn't  any,  anywhere,"  answered  Frederic; 
"  she  is  thoroughly  selfish.  Didn't  you  notice  that 
she  did  n't  appear  to  dread  suffering  for  Raymond,  as 
much  as  she  did  his  risk  of  being  scarred,  and  losing 
his  good  looks  ?" 

"  I  noticed  the  other  day  when  she  was  at  our  house, 
that  she  was  the  most  afraid  of  that,"  remarked 
Julia  ;  "  you,  Frederic,  thought,  when  I  told  vou  what 
she  then  said  to  mother  and  myself,  that  she  was  n't 
in  earnest." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  29 

"  I  know  I  did  ;  but  I  shall  not  be  guilty  of  judging 
her  so  mildly  again.  The  fact  is,"  continued  Fred- 
eric, "lam  astonished  at  what  my  ears  have  heard, 
and  I  pity  Raymond." 

"He  is  too  tender-hearted  to  deal  with  so  exacting 
a  personage  as  Bessie/'  said  Charlie  ;  "  she  will  suc- 
ceed in  keeping  him  at  home  for  a  time." 

"  I  hope  not,"  remarked  Minnie. 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Frederic,  as  he  had  by 
this  time  reached  his  home,  where  the  friends  parted. 
3* 


30  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  O,  woman !  thou  hast  a  part  to  act;  look  to  the  end." 

"I'm  glad  they  are  gone/'  said  Bessie,  as  soon  as 
the  door  was  closed  upon  her  friends  on  the  evening 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter. 

"  Why,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Raymond,  "  why  do  you 
feel  so  towards  these  friends  ?  I  thought  you  were 
much  attached  to  the  ladies,  at  least,  and  felt  some  re- 
gard for  the  gentlemen  also  ;  they  are  fine  young 
men,  Bessie,  I  assure  you  ;  worthy,  well  worthy  of 
your  best  respect." 

"  You  probably  think  so  ;  I  think  otherwise,  now." 

"  What  has  changed  your  mind  or  feelings  in  regard 
to  them,  Bessie  ?  " 

"  Their  own  acts,  of  course  ;  don't  you  see,  that  they 
seem  to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  must  think  as  they 
do  in  regard  to  the  war  ?  The  design  of  their  visit 
was  to  exert  an  influence,  if  possible,  over  my  mind, 
favorable  to  your  enlisting.  But  they  didn't  suc- 
ceed, and  so  I  hope  now  they  '11  attend  to  their  own 
business  and  let  me  alone." 

Raymond  endeavored,  though  in  vain,  to  vindicate 
his  friends  ;  he  was  deeply  grieved  at  the  feeling  Bes- 
sie manifested  towards  them,  as  well  as  towards  him- 
self. He  knew  that  she  would  make  herself  wretched 
if  he  went  from  home,  as  he  wished  to.  Gladly  would 
he  have  led  Bessie  —  to  whom  he  had  long  been  en- 
gaged —  to  the  altar  of  Hymen,  and  left  her  the  loving, 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  31 

trusting  wife  of   a  volunteer  soldier,   had  she   been 
willing. 

"/become  a  soldier's  wife  ?  no  never  !  There  are 
enough  poor  miserable  fellows,  that  may  as  well  be 
shot  as  not ;  but  the  man  who  is  to  be  my  husband, 
shall  never  run  the  risk  of  being  hit  by  bullets  with 
my  consent." 

So  Raymond  was  obliged,  though  with  great  reluct- 
ance and  mortification,  to  have  his  name  taken  from 
the  enrolment  list,  and  defer  going  out  in  the  regiment 
with  his  friends,  though  his  whole  heart  was  engaged 
in  the  cause  to  which  they  had  devoted  themselves. 
Frederic  did  not  see  Bessie  after  the  evening  before 
mentioned,  before  he  went  away  with  his  regiment. 
He  did  n't  care  to,  he  said,  as  she  was  such  a  hindrance 
to  his  friend.  It  was  quite  immaterial  to  him  whether 
she  gave  him  good  wishes  or  not ;  she  was,  he  thought, 
such  a  "  selfish  nobody." 

"I  wish  she  was  a  nobody,"  said  Charlie,  with 
something  like  scorn  in  his  tone  ;  "the  fact  is,  Fred, 
she  has  too  much  influence  over  Raymond,  for  his 
good.  He  does  n't  like  to  see  her  faults,  and  so  he 
tries  not  to,  and  endeavors  to  excuse  her  selfishness 
to  himself.  I  really  pity  Raymond,  and  his  mother 
too.     She  is  a  real,  whole-souled  woman,  Charlie." 

"  Indeed  she  is,  and  she  feels  very  much  tried  at  the 
idea  some  people  have  of  her  feelings  in  regard  to  her 
son's  going  into  the  array.  Bessie  is  quite  willing  to 
have  some  of  her  friends  suppose  that  Raymond  re- 
mains at  home  for  his  mother's  sake." 

"  It  isn't  possible  that  the  girl  will  allow  such  an 
impression  to  remain  upon  the  mind  of  any  one  who 
receives  it  ?  "  said  Frederic. 


32  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Yes  it  is,  and  more  than  that,  she  has  been  heard 
to  affirm  that  Raymond  was  glad  of  an  excuse 
to  stay  at  home.  He  followed,  she  said  to  Minnie,  a 
sndden  impulse,  in  enlisting,  and,  upon  second  thought, 
regretted  what  he  had  done." 

"  Did  she  tell  Minnie  that  Raymond  said  so  ?  " 

"I  didn't  understand  that  she  did;  she  merely 
made  the  statement  in  a  careless  manner." 

"  I  have  been  greatly  deceived  in  Bessie  Jenkins,  I 
must  confess.  My  wife  has  been  disposed,  ever,  to  be 
very  non-committal  towards  her,  and  I  have  tried  to 
persuade  her  that  she  was  not  charitable  enough  in 
her  feelings  towards  the  girl ;  but  since  the  recent  de- 
velopments of  her  character  have  been  known  to  me, 
I  feel  that  Julia  has  been  right." 

"  Certainly  she  has  ;  perhaps  Bessie  is  entitled  to 
the  pity  of  her  friends  in  some  respects,  for  she  has 
not  been  brought  up  right." 

"To  what  do  you  allude,  Charlie?  T  thought  her 
mother  was  a  professor  of  religion." 

"  So  she  is  ;  and  I  won't  say  that  she  is  not  a  Chris- 
tian ;  but  I  do  say  that  she  is  far  from  coming  up  to 
the  standard  of  her  duty  as  a  woman,  to  say  nothing 
of  her  maternal  obligations.  I  tell  you,  Fred,  just 
what  kind  of  person  she  is,  judging  from  her  talk,  of 
which  I  have  heard  a  great  deal.  She  is  terribly  afraid 
that  a  woman  should  know  anything  about  the  condi- 
tion of  the  country  in  which  she  lives.  She  may  read 
history,  ancient  and  modern,  of  every  nation  on  the 
globe,  but  she  must  not  feel  any  interest  in  what  is 
transpiring  in  her  own  land,  because  that  would  be 
meddling  with  politics.  It  is  a  fact  that  she  did  not 
feel  sufficient  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  land  which 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  33 

gave  her  birth,  to  lead  her  to  remember  the  name  of 
him  who  filled  the  office  of  chief  magistrate  in  our 
country  the  four  years  previous  to  the  inauguration  of 
President  Lincoln." 

"  Charlie,  is  n't  that  statement  a  little  fictitious, 
now  ?  it  does  n't  seem  possible  that  a  woman  could  be 
so  utterly  regardless  of  the  condition  of  things  about 
her  as  you  make  Mrs.  Jenkins  appear  to  be." 

"  Well,  upon  honor,  I  have  told  you  nothing  but 
truth  ;  I  will  quote  the  words  of  the  lady  as  I  heard 
them  fall  from  her  lips.  Said  she,  '  I  was  a  little  morti- 
fied the  other  day,  on  hearing  a  lady  remark  that  we 
need  not  look  for  a  change  for  the  better,  under  the 
present  administration,  to  reflect  that  I  did  n't  even 
know  who  was  President,  and  more  so,  when  she 
appealed  to  me  to  say  something  in  defence  of  her 
opinion.  After  the  lady,  who  had  called  upon  me, 
left  my  house,  I  took  pains  t  >  acquaint  myself  with 
tjie  name  of  our  President.'  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  Frederic;  "that  must  be 
wilful  ignorance,"  said  he,  "in  such  a  land  as  ours  ; 
it  is  no  marvel  Bessie  takes  so  little  interest  in  public 
affairs." 


34  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER    V. 

Old  friends  meet. 

It  was  something  new,  in  the  history  of  the  ladies 
of  our  country,  to  know  that  their  friends  were  at  the 
seat  of  war ;  —  to  feel  that  they  were  exposed  to 
danger,  far  from  their  homes  and  loved  ones. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  are  writing,  we,  who 
stayed  at  home,  could  scarcely  realize  that  all  the 
bustle  of  preparation  for  our  first  soldiers  to  go  forth, 
was  not  a  troubled  dream.  It  seemed  more  like  a 
dream  than  a  reality,  to  Julia,  when  she  found  herself 
alone  with  her  little  ones,  on  the  evening  of  the  day 
on  which  Frederic  had  left  his  home. 

"  How  are  we  to  get  on  without  Mr.  Sedgwick 
o'  nights  ?  "  asked  a  servant,  in  a  desponding  tone. 

Julia  had  just  asked  herself  the  same  question,  as 
she  had  never  in  her  life  before  been  so  situated  as  to 
be  without  a  person  under  her  roof  on  whom  she  could 
rely  for  protection  in  case  she  should  need  it.  Her 
heart  misgave  her  for  a  moment,  as  she  thought  of  her 
need,  but  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  courageously 
she  resolved  to  rely  upon  God  alone,  in  any  emer- 
gency ;  to  commit  herself  to  the  care  of  this  Almighty 
Friend,  and  retire  to  rest  with  as  little  care  as  she  felt 
when  her  husband  was  at  home.  This  feeling  she 
endeavored  to  infuse  into  the  mind  of  her  whole  fam- 
ily ;  and  Bridget's  heart  was  cheered  by  the  evident 
courage  of  her  young  mistress. 


BESSIE    AND    11AYM0ND.  35 

The  days  and  weeks  seemed  long,  very  long,  to  the 
little  household  over  which  Julia  presided.  To  her 
they  seemed  almost  interminable,  until  a  letter  came 
from  Frederic.  Although  it  was  written  amid  the 
bustle  and  confusion  of  camp  life,  the  strain  of  this 
letter  was  cheerful,  and  he  expressed  much  gratitude 
to  his  brave  little  wife  for  helping  him  to  part  with 
her  as  she  had  done. 

"  Had  you  wept  and  clung  to  me,"  he  wrote,  "  as  I 
saw  some  wives  cling  to  their  husbands  at  parting', 
the  trial  of  leaving  home  would  have  been  doubly 
hard.  As  it  is,  you  have  nerved  me  to  effort,  and 
may  I  prove  worthy  of  such  a  heroic  wife  as  I  am 
blest  with." 

Julia  did  n't  feel  that  she  was  flattered  by  the  com- 
mendation of  her  husband,  yet  she  was  grateful,  and 
felt  strengthened  to  do  and  to  bear  for  his  sake,  and 
for  the  sake  of  the  cause  for  which  he  had  gone  to 
fight, 

The  mother  of  Frederic  had  most  cordially  invited 
Julia  to  take  her  children,  and  with  them  become  an 
inmate  of  her  family  during  the  absence  of  Frederic. 
Julia  felt  grateful  for  this  invitation,  yet  declined  it, 
saying  to  her  mother-in-law,  "  I  must  not  be  so  child- 
ish as  to  leave  our  home  because  my  husband  is 
obliged  to  be  absent ;  besides,  you,  mother,  have  care 
enough,  and  a  family  sufficiently  large,  without  having 
myself  and  children  added  to  it ;  and  more  than  all 
this,  Frederic  may  be  sick  or  wounded,  and  come 
home  ;  then  it  would  be  so  much  better  to  have  his 
own  house  to  come  to,  that  I  can't  think  of  leaving 
it,  or  doing  anything  but  living  here  with  the  chil- 
dren." 


36  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"  But  it  troubles  me,  daughter,  to  thiuk  that  you  are 
here  so  lonely. " 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  have  company  ;  a  cousin  of  mine, 
Kate  Sisson,  of  whom  you  heard  me  .  speak,  has 
anticipated  visiting  me  for  a  long  time,  and  I  cannot 
but  hope  she  will  come  soon,  after  hearing  that  Fred- 
eric is  away." 

Julia  was  not  disappointed  in  her  hopes,  in  regard 
to  her  cousin.  Kate  came  on  the  day  following  that 
on  which  the  conversation  concerning  her  had  been 
held.  Her  arrival  was  welcomed  by  Julia  and  the 
little  ones,  as  peculiarly  opportune. 

"  I  was  speaking  of  you  yesterday  to  Mother  Sedg- 
wick," said  Julia,  "  and  telling  her  it  was  probable 
that  you  might  come,  if  you  knew  that  Frederic  was 
away." 

"  You  know  the  old  saying,  coz  ;  I  was  nearing  you 
then,  of  course.  I  could  n't  do  otherwise  than  hasten 
to  you  under  existing  circumstances.  Other  relatives 
of  mine  have  left  their  families  to  go  to  the  war,  but 
there  is  n't  one  of  these  families  that  seemed  to  need 
me  at  all ;  and,  moreover,  as  my  patriotic  feelings  must 
vent  themselves  in  action,  and  I  am  altogether  too 
young  for  a  hospital  nurse,  I  thought  that,  by  coming 
out  and  spending  a  few  months  with  you,  I  might  be 
enabled  to  do  something  for  my  bleeding,  suffering 
country." 

"  You  are  right,  Katie  dear,  and  I  am  delighted  at 
the  thought  of  your  making  a  long  stay  with  me." 

"  Then  you  will  let  me  be,  in  all  things,  like  one  of 
your  own  home  circle,  and  I  shall  greatly  enjoy  my 
protracted  visit  with  you." 

Kate  Sisson  was  one  of  those  frank-hearted,  gen- 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  37 

erous  natures,  who  could  not  fail  of  being  welcome 
anywhere.  She  had  a  faculty  of  making  those 
around  her  happy  which  few  possess.  To  know  Kate 
was  to  love  her.  It  would  be  saying  too  much  to  say 
that  she  never  gave  offence  to  any,  for  she  very  inde- 
pendently expressed  her  opinions  on  all  subjects  ;  she 
was,  too,  sometimes  severe  upon  those  she  considered 
.  wilfully  in  the  wrong,  yet  her  severity  was  so  mingled 
with  playfulness  that  it  often  did  good  without  in- 
flicting a  bitter  wound.  As*  we  are  writing  a  story,  a 
description  of  our  characters  will  be  expected,  and  we 
will  endeavor  to  describe  Kate,  even  though  we  run 
the  risk  of  having  our  description  called  tame  by 
those  who  recognize  her  character. 

At  first  sight  she  was  not  strikingly  beautiful,  but 
her  countenance  was  ever  varying  in  its  expression, 
which  was  also  perfectly  open,  —  a  real  tell-tale  face 
was  hers.  Her  form  was  slight  and  her  height  about 
medium.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  their  expression 
was  of  the  merriest  kind.  Her  hair  was  dark  brown, 
and  her  complexion  fair,  with  a  glow  upon  her  cheeks 
that  was  ever  varying  in  its  tint.  Now  with  all  these 
pleasant  features,  she  did  not  imagine  herself  pretty, 
yet  she  knew  that  she  possessed  the  power  of  pleasing, 
a,  gift  for  which  she  was  grateful  to  her  heavenly 
Father.     She  had  withal  a  contented  spirit. 

She  had  not  been  long  in  the  home  of  Julia  ere  that 
friend  began  to  wonder  how  Kate  had  lived  to  be 
twenty  years  old  without  having  her  heart  and  hand 
engaged  to  some  one  of  the  many  young  gentlemen 
who  had  really  seemed  to  admire  her.  She  expressed 
her  surprise  to  her  cousin  on  the  occasion,  that  she 
had  not  entered  into  any  matrimonial  engagement, 
4      A. 


38  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

when  Kate  laughingly  replied,  "  This  war  has  hin- 
dered my  promising  to  give  my  hand  and  heart  to  a 
young  gentleman  whom  I  esteem  as  noble  and  good." 

"  Why,  Kate,  I  didn't  know  that  any  one  dear  to 
you  had  been  killed  in  this  war  ;  how  is  it  that  you  can 
be  so  cheerful,  under  such  trying  circumstances  ? " 

"  You  do  not  quite  understand  me,  Julia  ;  I  did  not 
say  that  any  one  had  died." 

"  But  you  said  the  war  had  hindered  your  being 
engaged." 

"  And  so  it  has  ;  I  will  tell  you  how.  You  have 
often  heard  of  Arthur  Bryant,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Kate  ;  and  at  one  time  I  understood  that  he 
was  likely  to  become  your  most  particular  friend." 

"  Well,  all  this  was  true  once,  and  might  have  been 
true  to-day,  had  not  the  sound  of  the  clarion  of  this 
terrible  war  of  ours  developed  traits  in  his  character 
that  lowered  him  in  my  esteem  so  much  that  I  could 
not  possibly  love  him." 

"  What  new  traits  did  you  discover  all  on  a 
sudden  ?  " 

Kate  looked  at  Julia  for  a  moment  earnestly,  being 
in  doubt  as  regarding  the  tone  in  which  she  had  asked 
her  question,  and  then  asked  another  by  way  of  reply. 

"Do  you  think  me  quixotic,  Julia  ?  " 

"No,  dear  Kate,  but  I  didn't  know  but  that  you 
might  have  been  governed  by  impulse  in  deciding 
hastily  in  your  zeal  for  your  country,  as  I  have  been 
informed  that  Arthur  did  not  enlist,  in  defence  of  the 
dear  old  flag." 

"  It  was  not  for  that  reason  alone,  that  I  have  been 
led  almost  to  despise  him,  although  I  did  not  feel 
proud  of  him,  when  I  heard  him  assert  boldly  that  he 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  39 

would  not  go  to  the  war.  Had  that  been  all,  I  might 
have  overlooked  his  want  of  patriotism  in  time  ;  but 
it  was  the  mercenary  motives  that  governed  him,  that 
I  despise.  Why,  what  do  you  think  he  said  to  me,  the 
first  time  I  was  alone  with  him  after  the  fall  of 
Sumter?" 

"  I  can  hardly  imagine,  cousin." 

"  True,  you  would  never  imagine  a  young  man  like 
Arthur,  to  be  so  utterly  selfish  as  he  has  proved  him- 
self to  be.  I  have  escaped  a  deal  of  trouble,  in  dis- 
covering his  real  character  as  I  have  done.  But  I 
have  n't  told  you  what  he  said.  In  reply  to  my  in- 
quiry if  he  was  n't  going  to  aid  his  country  in  her  hour 
of  peril,  he  sneeringly  remarked,  that  he  had  no  idea 
of  standing  up  to  be  shot  at,  he  cared  too  much  for  his 
life  to  do  that ;  and  he  said,  moreover,  that  if  I  cared 
anything  about  him,  I  would  be  glad  he  had  sense 
enough  to  stay  at  home  and  make  money  out  of  the 
war.  He  then  told  me  how  present  hostilities  had 
opened  and  would  continue  to  open  channels  in  which 
wealth  would  flow  in  to  those  who  stayed  at  home 
and  took  advantage  of  opportunities  that  were  contin- 
ually presenting  themselves.  He  hoped  he  was 
shrewd  enough  to  avail  himself  of  such  chances." 
"  I  mean,"  said  he,  "that  this  war  shall  make  me  a 
rich  man." 

"  Then  you  resolve  to  avail  yourself  of  the  woes  of 
our  dear  land  to  aggrandize  yourself,  Arthur,  said  I." 

"  Yes,  if  you  so  define  my  expressed  intentions  ; 
but  I  do  it  for  your  sake,  Kate,  as  well  as  my  own. 
You  have  inferred  ere  this,  from  my  acts,  that  I  wish 
you  to  unite  your  fate  with  mine." 

"  There  was  a  pause  here,  Julia,  a  rather  long  pause, 


40  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

too,  for  I  was  so  indignant  that  I  was  afraid  to  speak 
until  I  reflected  a  few  minutes,  and  Arthur  sat  waiting 
for  my  reply.  At  length  he  asked  me  if  I  had  under- 
stood the  import  of  his  words. 

"  I  fear  I  do  only  too  well,"  said  I. 

"  Why,  dear  Kate,  you  surely  cannot  object  to  my 
making  a  fortune  when  I  have  a  chance  to  do  so." 

"  No,  Arthur,  if  you  do  so  by  honorable  means  ;  but 
I  do  object  to  your  taking  advantage  of  your  country's 
suffering,  to  further  any  selfish  object." 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  he  answered,  "  you  would  like 
best  to  see  me  join  some  regiment,  and  go  to  battle  as 
a  private,  with  the  scanty  pay  that  the  Government 
allows  her  soldiers.  In  your  opinion,  that,  I  infer, 
would  be  honorable." 

"Yes,  Arthur,  truly  honorable.  All  honor,  I  say, 
to  the  brave  volunteers,  who  have  gone  forth  without 
stopping  to  seek  for  office  or  emolument  of  any  kind  ; 
believe  me,  I  should  respect  you,  as  one  of  their 
number,  however  poor,  ten  thousand  times  ten  thou- 
sand more  than  I  should  respect  you  with  all  the  riches 
you  could  accumulate  in  the  way  you  mark  out  for 
yourself." 

1 '  And  I  am  to  take  this  as  your  decisive  answer  to 
the  question  I  proposed  to  you,  if  I  rightly  under- 
stand." 

li  Yes,  Arthur,  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  believe 
you  can  be  governed  by  such  ignoble  motives  ;  but  it 
is  not  possible  for  me  to  feel  differently  in  regard  to 
these  vastly  important  subjects." 

"  'You  may  repent  of  the  stand  you  have  taken, 
some  day,  young  lady/  said  he,  as  he  arose,  with  an 
angr^  look,  to  leave  me." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  41 

"  Heaven  save  me  from  such  degradation ,"  I  replied, 
almost  involuntarily,  as  he  bade  me  a  formal  good 
night. 

"  Is  that  the  last  time  you  have  had  an  opportunity 
to  converse  with  him  upon  the  subject  ?  "  asked  Julia. 
"  Yes,  — no  ;  I  have  tried  to  influence  him  when  I 
have  met  him  in  company,  to  think  differently,  but  it 
is  of  no  use  to  say  anything  to  him  ;  he  will  not  listen. 
His  mind  is  made  up.  I  should  not  have  told  you  all 
these  particulars  in  regard  to  this  affair,  if  Arthur 
had  n't  told  it  himself,  and  given  an  entirely  different 
coloring  to  the  story.  Had  he  offered  me  his  heart, 
and  I  had  felt  obliged  to  reject  the  offer,  I  would  not 
have  mentioned  the  circumstance,  not  even  to  you, 
Julia  ;  but  as  there  was  no  heart-work  about  it,  and  he 
has  reported  that  I  was  in  love  with  a  volunteer,  I 
think  I  may  be  excused  for  telling  the  truth  about  it." 
"  I  think  so,  too,  Kate  ;  but  what  is  Arthur  doing 
now?" 

"  Oh,  he  is  engaged  in  speculations  of  different 
kinds  ;  I  hear  that  he  hopes  to  make  a  great  deal  of 
money  on  cotton." 

"He  will  probably  succeed  in  projects  to  become 
rich,  then  ;  cotton  cloth  is  one  of  the  must-have  arti- 
cles in  our  land,  therefore  people  must  buy  it,  if  the 
price  should  be  greatly  increased." 

"  Well,  we  have  talked  enough  about  my  affairs. 
Tell  me  now,  how  does  Frederic  rank  as  a  soldier  ? 
Did  he  go  as  a  private,  or  did  he  have  a  commission  ?  " 
"  He  went  in  the  ranks  ;  he  said  he  did  not  consider 
himself  qualified  to  hoM  an  office.  If  he  proved  to 
have  soldierly  tact,  he  might  be  promoted,  and  if  he 


42  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

did  not  earn  promotion,  he  would  remain  a  private,  and 
serve  his  country  in  the  ranks." 

"  I  glory  in  such  as  he,"  responded  Kate  ;  "they 
have  the  good  of  the  Union  at  heart,  and  they  will  do 
something  besides  parade  in  a  military  dress." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Julia  ;  "I  want  every  one  who 
goes  to  the  seat  of  war,  to  do  something  towards 
putting  down  this  inhuman  Rebellion." 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  43 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  Must  we  part?" 

Time  passed,  and  nearly  five  months  had  gone  since 
Frederic  had  left  his  home,  when  a  little  daughter 
was  added  to  the  loved  circle  he  had  left.  Kate  was 
a  great  comfort  and  support  to  Julia  at  this  time. 
They  were  both  obliged  to  lay  aside,  for  a  time,  work 
which  they  had  commenced  for  the  sick  and  wounded 
soldiers,  and  which  they  loved  to  do.  Very  many 
garments  had  been  completed  by  the  nimble  fingers  of 
Julia  and  her  friend,  since  Kate  had  been  an  inmate  of 
her  dwelling  ;  but  knitting  was  now  the  only  work 
that  could  be  done  to  -advantage,  as  Kate  was  busy, 
much  of  her  time,  in  filling  the  place  made  vacant  by 
the  absence  of  Julia  from  her  family.  Her  knitting- 
work,  however,  was  ever  at  hand,  to  be  taken  up,  so 
that  whenever  she  had  a  leisure  moment,  she  might 
knit,  if  but  a  little.  On  being  asked,,  on  one  occa- 
sion, by  Julia's  good-natured  nurse,  if  she  could  not 
bear  to  live  without  seeing  a  soldier's  stocking,  she 
replied,  with  a  smile,  "  I  might,  if  I  knew  all  the  sol- 
diers*could  be  made  comfortable  without  my  help  ;  but 
while  I  fear  that  they  cannot  be,  I  love  to  have  my 
work  where  I  can  do  something  towards  its  comple- 
tion, in  every  spare  moment,  for  in  this  way  I  find 
that  many  a  stocking  gets  knit,  while  I  hardly  realize 
that  I  am  at  work." 

Bessie   Jenkins  came  in  one  day,  while   Kate  sat 


44  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

with  her  gray  stocking  in  hand,  diligent  as  usual.  She 
had  called  at  Julia's  several  times  before,  since  Kate 
had  been  there,  and  having  seen  her  once  before,  in 
years  gone  by,  she  felt  considerably  acquainted  with 
her. 

"  You  are  partial  to  grave  colors,"  said  Bessie,  after 
she  had  regarded  Kate  awhile,  as  she  sat  chatting  and 
plying  her  needles  at  the  same  time. 

The  young  lady  thus  addressed  looked  up,  and  find- 
ing she  was  the  person  spoken  to,  answered  laugh- 
ingly, "Yes,  I  like  gray,  especially  when  I  see  red, 
white,  and  blue  through  it." 

"  Ah,  that  is  what  you  are  looking  at  while  plod- 
ding on  with  those  homely  old  stockings  ;  I  thought 
it  strange  if  the  yarn  and  needles  alone  possessed 
power  to  please  and  attract  you  thus.7' 

"  I  love  to  knit,  even  when  I  do  not  feel  that  by 
being  thus  employed  I  am  doing  good  to  the  soldiers  ; 
but  now  I  assure  you  that  my  whole  heart  is  in  the 
work.  I  would  like  to  knit  a  miniature  flag,  and  sew 
it  upon  every  stocking  I  send  away,  to  remind  those 
who  wear  them  of  the  value  I  attach  to  the  dear  old 
stars  and  stripes." 

"  How  patriotic  some  folks  are." 

"Yes,"  said  Kate,  gayly ;  "  but  I  have  heard  of 
some  people  that  are  not  at  all  patriotic  ;  those  that 
are  so,  you  understand,  must  do  more  work  in  .order 
to  make  up  for  the  sloth  of  such  as  do  nothing.  You 
have  time  to  do  a  great  deal,  Bessie,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  No,  not  for  strangers  ;  charity  begins  at  home, 
you  know." 

"Yes,  I  admit  that  it  does;  but  it  is  the  poorest 
place  in  the  world  for  it  to  end  in,  unless  it  takes  a 
large  sweep  first." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  45 

Bessie  was  silent  a  few  minutes,  after  Kate  had 
made  this  remark  ;  when  she  spoke,  it  was  to  say  that 
she  supposed  she  was  aware  that  she  did  not  feel  as 
much  interest  in  public  affairs  as  some  did.  "  I  am 
not  willing  that  those  I  love  should  go  to  the  war  at 
all." 

"Indeed,"  said  Kate;  "well,  what  good  do  you 
expect  to  accomplish  by  using  your  influence  to  keep 
them  at  home  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  shall  keep  them  out  of  harm's  way,  I 
hope." 

"You  cannot  be  certain  that  you  will  do  thai?," 
replied  Kate,  gravely  ;  "  mishaps  may  befall  them  at 
home.  I  should  be  afraid  that  a  friend  whom  I  should 
dare  to  hinder  from  doing  his  duty,  would  be  arrested 
by  illness,  or  meet  with  some  disaster.  I  should  not 
dare  withhold  my  consent,  if  a  friend  wished  me  to 
approve  of  his  becoming  a  soldier,  at  such  a  time  as 
the  present.  Look  at  our  Julia,  here ;  I  wish  all 
American  women  were  as  brave  and  loyal  as  she  is." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Julia,  earnestly,  "  that  I  have 
done  no  more  than  my  duty.  I  should  be  ashamed 
of  myself  if  I  was  n't  willing  to  make  sacrifices  for 
my  country." 

"  Perhaps  you- think  I  ought  to  be  ashamed,"  said 
Bessie,  "  but  there  's  enough  being  done  without  my 
help." 

"  That  won't  be  any  excuse  for  you,  Bessie,"  said 
Kate;  "you  will  be  brought  to  think  differently,  I 
trust,  ere  many  months  have  passed." 

"I  don't  believe  that,"  replied  Bessie;  "but  I 
must  go  now  ;  I  don't  care  to  stop  long  with  people 
who  don't  think  very  highly  of  me." 


46  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

This  she  said  half  playfully  and  half  in  earnest,  and 
Kate  laughingly  told  her  that  she  was  a  free  agent, 
and  could  so  conduct  that  people  would  esteem  her 
very  highly  indeed. 

"  If  I  should  become  an  abolitionist,  I  suppose  I 
should  find  favor  here,"  said  Bessie,  as  she  arose  and 
approached  the  door. 

"That  alone  wouldn't  do,"  answered  Julia;  "it 
is  n't  so  much  how  people  think  as  how  they  act,  that 
I  look  at.  Some  people  have  a  very  fair  theory,  and 
a  bad  practice,  while  others  do  a  great  deal  better 
than  they  talk.  I  hope  Bessie  will  be  like  that  servant 
who  said,  '  I  go  not/  but  afterwards  repented  and 
went." 

Bessie  shook  her  head,  and  bade  them  a  hasty 
adieu. 

Julia  soon  recovered  her  wonted  strength,  and 
resumed  the  cares  she  had  laid  down  for  a  season  with 
cheerfulness  and  alacrity.  In  every  possible  way  she 
contrived,  with  Kate's  assistance,  to  do  all  she  could 
for  those  who  were  defending  our  Government.  There 
was  little  in  her  home  to  vary  the  monotony  of  daily 
life.  Not  that  the  sameness  of  every  day's  duty  was 
irksome  to  her  ;  far  from  it ;  she  felt  that  she  could  not 
be  sufficiently  grateful  for  having  been  spared  the  pain 
of  startling  intelligence  from  her  husband,  aDd,  too, 
that  everything  thus  far  had  gone  so  smoothly  with 
her. 

"It  is  true,"  she  often  said,  "that  I  feel  the  want 
of  Frederic's  society  to  be  a  great  deprivation,  but 
what  is  it  when  compared  with  the  anguish  of  heart 
many  experience  daily,  who  are  more  deserving  than 
myself? " 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  47 

Would  it  were  our  happy  privilege  to  let  the 
reader  linger  amid  the  brighter  scenes  enacted  during 
the  fratricidal  contest  which  has  thrown  a  shade  of 
sadness  over  our  once  bright  land  ;  but  we  are  telling 
a  story  of  this  war,  and,  in  order  to  be  truthful,  we 
must  portray  some  scenes  at  which  our  souls  revolt. 


48  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Our  Kate. 

When  Julia's  babe  was  nearly  two  months  old,  she 
was  sitting  in  her  room  by  the  cradle  one  morning", 
engaged,  as  was  her  wont,  in  sewing  for  the  sick 
and  wounded  soldiers,  when  Kate  entered  and  put  a 
letter  into  her  hand,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  "I  wonder 
what  this  means  ;  you  see  this  letter  is  from  Oak  Dale, 
and  its  superscription  is  in  the  handwriting  of  my 
aunt.  Why  is  it  addressed  to  you  instead  of  being 
directed  to  me,  as  all  letters  from  home  have  been 
hitherto?" 

"  We  will  soon  know,"  remarked  Julia,  as  she 
opened  the  letter.  As  she  read,  Kate  watched  the 
expression  of  her  countenance,  and  the  vague  fear  that 
had  taken  possession  of  her  mind,  when  she  first  saw 
the  missive,  was  augmented  as  she  saw  the  color  recede 
from  the  face  of  her  friend,  ere  she  perused  the  first 
page.  With  an  undefined  feeling  of  dread  she  inter- 
rupted Julia,  by  asking  her  if  the  letter  contained  bad 
news.  Her  cousin  did  not  reply  immediately,  as  she 
was  too  much  overcome  to  articulate,  and  Kate  beg- 
ged her  to  speak. 

"0,  tell  me,  have  you  tidings  of  Frederic  or  of  my 
brother  ?  for  I  cannot  wait." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  cousin  ;  it  is  news  from  your  own 
loved  ones  ;  your  mother  and  your  brother  Walter." 

"  That  is  why  the  letter  was  written  to  you  ;  they 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  •  49 

feared  to  communicate  sad  intelligence  to  me,  abrupt- 
ly, but  I  am  prepared  now  to  hear  anything-,  so  tell 
me  all." 

"Your  mother  is  very  ill,  Kate;  she  has  just  re- 
ceived the  sad  news  that  Walter  is  no  more.'7 

"Dear,  dear  mother  ;  I  must  go  to  her  as  soon  as  I 
possibly  can ;  and  my  darling  brother ;  does  the 
writer  of  the  letter  say  how  he  died  ?  " 

"On  the  field  of  battle:  your  aunt  didn't  tell 
where.' '  * 

"Well,"  said  Kate,  "if  he  must  be  taken  from 
earth,  I  would  rather  he  had  died  a  martyr  to  the  cause  of 
freedom  and  right  than  in  any  other  way,  but  I  tremble 
for  my  mother.  Think  of  her  being  obliged  to  hear 
such  intelligence,  when  very  ill.  Walter  was  her 
darling ;  you  know  he  was  her  youngest  child,  and  0, 
so  dearly  loved,  not  only  by  his  mother  but  by  all  of 
us.  So  young,  too,  to  lay  down  his  precious  life  for 
his  country.  Noble  boy !  but  nothing  but  a  boy, 
scarcely  seventeen  years  old." 

All  this  was  said  by  Kate,  as  the  tears  flowed  in 
torrents  down  her  cheeks,  while  she  commenced  mak- 
ing preparations  to  start  for  home  that  same  afternoon. 
She  would  be  obliged  to  leave  Oak  Dale  at  an  early 
hour  in  the  evening  in  order  to  take  the  express  train 
to  New  York  that  night.  Very  few  words  were 
spoken  by  either  Julia  or  Kate  during  the  hours  that 
intervened  between  the  reception  of  that  woe-bringing 
missive,  and  the  departure  of  one  who  had  been  a  light 
and  solace  in  the  home  of  her  friend.  Julia's  tears 
flowed  freely  in  sympathy  with  the  bereaved  sister  and 
affectionate  daughter.  Once  she  controlled  her  emo- 
tions to  say  to  Kate,  that  it  was  sad  to  think  they  had 


50  ■  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

been  so  cheerful,  when  those  so  dear  to  them  were  suf- 
fering so  severely. 

"  Don't  let  that  thought  trouble  you,  dear  Julia  ;  I 
hope,  we  have  n't  indulged  in  indecorous  levity,  and  it 
is  certainly  a  duty  to  be  cheerful  ;  besides,  if  we  had 
anticipated  sorrow  and  made  ourselves  prematurely 
sad,  it  could  not  have  done  our  friends  any  good.  I 
am  glad  that  we  have  been  able  to  feel  cheerful,  it  has 
been  good  for  us,  and  we  are  at  this  moment  better  able 
to  bear  up  and  do  our  duty  under  this  trial  than  we 
could  have  been  had  our  strength  been  used  in  wor- 
rying." 

"  What  a  girl  you  are,  cousin,"  ejaculated  Julia, 
while  her  lips  trembled  with  emotion,  "  how  much 
fortitude  jou  possess  ;  I  do  so  hate  to  part  with  you, 
you  help  me  so  much  in  bearing  up  ;  I  fear  I  shall 
sink  when  you  are  gone,  and  yet,  I  would  not  keep 
you  now  if  I  could." 

"  I  know  you  would  have  me  hasten  to  my  afflicted 
mother,  Julia  ;  and  let  my  sudden  and  unexpected  de- 
parture, strengthen  your  resolve  to  look  directly  up  to 
God,  in  every  moment  of  need.  He  will  give  you 
'  strength  equal  to  your  day.'  But  for  his  felt  presence, 
I  should  sink  at  this  hour."  As  Kate  uttered  these 
words  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  cousin's  shoulder,  and 
for  a  few  moments  they  wept  together. 

"It  does  me  good  to  weep,  Julia,"  said  Kate,  as 
she  slowly  raised  her  head  from  its  loved  resting-place. 
"It  is  not  wrong  to  weep,  since  oar  Divine  Master 
wept,  if  we  weep  without  murmuring;  we  should  not 
be  afflicted,  if  we  could  not  feel  affliction.  Think  of 
me,  Julia,  when  it  will  benefit  me  most,  after  I  leave 
you ;    when    you   hold   communion   with  Heaven,    I 


BE.SSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  51 

"  I  understand  your  meaning',  Kate  ;  would  I  could 
pray  aright  for  you  ;  I  shall  try  constantly." 

This  conversation  was  held  just  before  the  moment 
of  parting  came  to  our  friends.  Kate's  journey  home 
was  a  sad  and  lonely  one  ;  she  longed  to  be  with  her 
sorrowing  parent,  that  she  might  minister  to  her  com- 
fort, yet  she  shrank  from  meeting  her,  knowing  how 
deeply  her  fond  maternal  heart  was  lacerated,  by  the 
death  of  her  dear  Walter.  All  along  the  way,  Kate 
prayed  for  strength  to  bear  this  meeting  in  such  a 
manner,  that  her  mother,  if  possible,  might  be  com- 
forted by  her  arrival.  One  would  have  thought  at 
seeing  her,  when  she  threw  her  arms  about  her  mother's 
neck,  as  she  first  entered  her  sick-room,  and  spoke 
words  of  consolation,  that  her  own  grief  was  well- 
nigh  forgotten. 

"To  think,"  said  the  invalid,  "that  I  shall  never 
hear  the  loved  voice  of  my  dear  Walter  again  ;  how, 
0,  how  can  I  live  and  have  it  so." 

"  Think  of  something  more  consoling,  dear  mother  ; 
think  how  much  cause  you  have  to  be  grateful  that 
you  have  been  blest  with  a  son  so  nobfe,  dutiful,  and 
good.  What  a  privilege  it  is,  to  feel  that  we  may 
meet  him  in  heaven ;  you  think  he  was  a  Christian, 
don't  you  mother  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  Then  think  how  much  happier  your  lot  is  to-day, 
than  that  of  thousands  of  mothers  in  our  land,  at  this 
moment.  Is  his  early,  brilliant  death  a  trial,  when 
compared  with  the  sorrow  you  would  have  felt,  had 
he  been  spared  to  you,  and  yet  been  degraded  with 
vice?  I  have  seen  one  mother,  recently,  whose  grief 
was  overwhelming,  and   the  only  consolation  she  had 


52  BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND. 

was  to  be  still,  and  know  that  God  had  afflicted  her. 
Her  son  had  died,  not  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  a 
sacrifice  to  his  own  sinful  lusts.  Another,  I  met,  too, 
in  my  absence,  whose  son  had  fallen  a  victim  to  dis- 
ease that  had  been  increased  by  his  habits  of  dissipa- 
tion ;  he  had  died  in  a  hospital,  far  from  home  and 
friends,  cursing  his  fate  and  every  one  who  approached 
him,  until  his  strength  was  exhausted." 

'■  How  much  more  I  have  to  comfort  me,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sissoii,  "  and  yet  my  heart  has  rebelled.  I  will 
try  to  submit  to  this  great  trial,  although  it  has  come 
suddenly.  I  fear  I  did  not  count  the  cost  when  I  laid 
my  boy  upon  the  altar  of  his  country." 

There  was  one  thing  about  which  the  mother  of 
Walter  was  extremely  anxious  ;  that  was,  to  look  once 
more  upon  the  face  of  her  young  son.  She  had  been 
informed  that  his  remains  had  been  carefully  interred 
by  a  young  friend  who  had  pledged  his  word  to  Walter 
that,  if  he  survived  him  in  battle,  he  would  see  that  he 
was  buried,  and  his  grave  marked,  so  that  it  could  be 
found  by  his  friends.  Walter  had  promised  to  do  the 
same  for  his  friend  should  he  fall  first.  The  weather 
being  cool,  it  was  thought  that  the  remains  of  the 
young  soldier  could  easily  be  conveyed  to  his  home. 

Mrs.  Sisson's  mind  was  constantly  occupied  with 
this  subject  from  the  moment  she  learned  the  fact  that 
the  loved  body  might  be  found.  Who  could  go  and 
find  the  place  where  Walter  lay  ?  Most  of  the  male 
friends  of  Mrs.  Sisson's  family  were  absent  from  home, 
in  their  country's  service  ;  she  could  think  of  no  one 
to  whom  she  might  apply  in  this  emergency,  except- 
ing a  stranger,  and  a  person  who  felt  no  special 
interest  would  not  be  as  likely  to  take  pains  to  identify 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  53 

the  corpse  as  would  a  relative.  She  knew  a  mother, 
who  had  supposed  she  had  received  the  body  of  a  dear 
child,  who  had  learned,  upon  looking  at  the  dead,  that 
the  coffin  contained  the  remains  of  a  man  who  was 
unknown  to  her.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
such  a  trial  as  that,  for  herself,  yet  how  should  it  be 
avoided  ?  The  mother's  anxiety  increased  her  ill- 
ness. 

Kate  saw  this  with  pain,  and  was  nerved  to  effort, 
for  her  mother's  sake.  "  Mother,7'  said  she,  one  day, 
"  I  can,  and  I  will  go,  and  bring  home  the  body  of  my 
brother." 

"You,  Kate?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  can  go  ;  surely  if  any  one  can 
identify  him,  I  can." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  undertaking  for  you,  my  daugh- 
ter ;  a  sorrowful  one,  too." 

"  I  know  it,  mother,  but  I  think  I  have  counted  the 
cost ;  this  is  a  day  for  great  undertakings  ;  I  must  n't 
shrink  from  performing  my  part  in  the  terrible  drama 
which  is  being  acted  in  our  land.  I  shall  be  protected 
and  sustained  ;  so,  if  you  say  so,  I  will  start  to-night, 
as  the  sooner  we  can  get  dear  Walter's  body  home,  the 
better  it  will  be." 

"  Go,  then,  daughter,"  said  the  mother,  while  tears 
flowed  freely,  from  many  and  commingled  emotions. 
5* 


54  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Not    a   heroine,    yet   heroic." 

Two  days  from  that  on  which  the  conversation 
occurred  which  is  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  Kate 
found  herself  in  Washington.  A  part  of  the  way  she 
had  travelled  without  any  company  that  she  knew,  but 
when  within  a  few  miles  of  Baltimore  she  had  met 
with  a  lady  and  gentleman  with  whom  she  was  some- 
what acquainted.  She  had  met  them  several  times  at 
Oak  Dale,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her  anxious  heart  to 
find  herself  recognized  by  them,  and,  moreover,  to 
find  that  they  were  going  directly  to  the  capital.  She 
soon  made  these  friends,  whom  we  shall  designate  by 
the  name  of  Brown,  acquainted  with  her  circum- 
stances, and  the  object  of  her  visit  to  Washington. 

Mr.  Brown  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  both  him- 
self and  wife  sympathized  deeply  with  our  afflicted 
young  traveller.  They,  too,  promised  to  do  all  they 
could  to  assist  her  to  accomplish  the  object  of  her 
journey.  Greatly  as  Kate  felt  the  need  of  repose,  she 
would  allow  herself  no  time  to  rest  until  she  had  seen 
the  grave  of  her  brother.  He  had  been  buried  a  few 
miles  from  the  city,  that  his  grave  might  be  easily 
found  if  sought  for. 

At  the  second  battle  of  Bull  Run,  Walter  had  fallen, 
having  been  shot  by  a  bullet,  in  his  head.  The  mis- 
sile had  struck  the  side  of  his  head,  and  had  destroyed 
life,    without   having  greatly  disfigured   the   comely 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  55 

countenance  of  the  man.  Kate  knew  how  her  brother 
had  been  wounded;  and  her  fancy  portrayed  him,  as 
1"'  lay  cold  in  death's  embrace.  She  nerved  her  heart 
to  the  task  before  her.  She  must  see  him  ;  she  could 
not  trust  to  another  to  do  this  for  her,  for  she  had 
promised  her  suffering  parent  that  she  would  see  him 
herself.  As  she  stood  near  the  spot  where  one  so  dear 
to  her  heart  was  sleeping  in  death,  her  countenance 
betrayed  the  anguish  within,  and  the  friends  who  had 
accompanied  her  thus  far,  begged  her  to  leave  the 
place,  and  trust  strangers  to  perform  the  task  she  had 
undertaken. 

"  No,  no,"  said  she,  in  reply  to  these  entreaties  " 1 
must  be  sure  that  it  is  the  remains  of  my  brother  that 
I  take  home  with  me.'7 

"But,"  said  a  gentleman  who  was  standing  by 
"  you  know  not  what  a  trial  is  before  you,  young  lady  • 
a  strong  man  is  hardly  adequate  to  such  a  task  as  you 
are  about  to  impose  upon  yourself." 

"I  know  it  will  be  trying  to  my  feelings  to  look 
upon  the  lifeless  form  of  my  dear  brother,  but  I  must 
do  so,  to  be  sure  they  are  his  remains  that  are  to  be 
disinterred.  Do  not  say  anything  more  to  dishearten 
me,  but  rather  try  to  inspire  i*e  with  resolution  to  do 
what  I  feel  to  be  my  duty." 

No  more  was  said  against  her  doing  what  she  jour- 
neyed so  far  to  do,  yet  all  who  saw  her  stand  waiting 
for  the  earth  to  be  removed,  which  covered  her 
brother  from  her  view,  felt  an  intense  interest  in  re- 
gard to  the  effect  a  sight  of  the  body  that  was  being 
exhumed,  would  have  upon  the  bereaved  sister 

There  was  little  doubt  existing  in  regard  to  the 
grave  that  was  being  opened,  as  being  that  of  Walter, 


56  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

yet  there  might  possibly  be  some  mistake,  and  she 
would  not  fail  of  being  certain.  The  cover  of  the  box 
which  was  taken  from  the  grave,  was  taken  off.  Kate 
stood  a  little  from  it,  her  eye  caught  sight  of  the 
United  States  uniform  in  which  the  corpse  was  ar- 
rayed ;  she  then  approached  a  few  steps  nearer,  and 
her  friend,  Mr.  Brown,  put  her  arm  within  his  own, 
and  advanced  with  her  slowly  towards  the  body. 
Kate  bent  over  the  box  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  closely 
scanned  the  face  of  the  "tiead  ;  she  then  stood  still, 
with  her  eyes  raised  to  the  face  of  the  friend  upon 
whom  she  leaned  for  support,  and  exclaimed,  "  My 
dear,  dear  brother  Walter  ;  yes,  it  is  he,  I  am  sure." 

Mr.  Brown  then  conducted  her  to  a  resting-place 
near  by,  and  she  sank  apparently  lifeless  before  him  ; 
she  had  fainted  quite  away.  It  was  sometime  ere  her 
overtasked  nerves  allowed  her  to  recover  sufficiently  to 
admit  of  her  returning  to  the  city.  Her  most  severe 
task  had  been  accomplished,  and  her  strained  nerves 
would  not  longer  be  forced  to  act ;  they  must  have 
rest  for  a  little  season,  and  she  lay  upon  a  rustic  seat 
that  had  been  comfortably  prepared  for  her  accom- 
modation, in  a  state  of  great  lassitude.  At  length, 
weariness  brought  one%half  hour's  sleep  to  soothe 
her  tortured  nerves,  and  she  awoke  somewhat  re- 
freshed. 

"  I  have  been  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  you  and 
your  kind  husband,"  said  Kate,  on  awakening  and 
seeing  Mrs.  Brown  sitting  near  her;  "  I  feel  that  I 
can  never  repay  your  kindness." 

"  Don't  speak  of  that,"  said  the  gentleman  just  re- 
ferred to  ;  "  I,  or  we,  are  glad  that  it  has  been  in  our 
power  to  assist  you  ;  perhaps  some  day  we  may  want 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  57 

some  such  office  performed  for  ourselves  ;  so  say  no 
more  of  what  we  have  done.  We  must  now  go  to 
Washington,  directly,  and  see  to  having  things  prop- 
erly and  speedily  attended  to,  so  that  you  can  start 
for  home  as  soon  as  you  are  able." 

"  Yes,  let  us  hasten,"  said  Kate  ;  "  I  shall  be  able  as 
soon  as  my  mission  is  performed." 

In  a  few  hours  from  this  time  Kate  looked  once  more 
upon  the  loved  features  of  her  darling  brother.  His 
appearance,  however,  was  much  improved  ;  it  was 
still  his  lifeless  form  she  saw  and  wept  over,  but  there 
was  no  longer  anything  to  shock  her  about  that  form. 
The  expression  of  his  countenance  was  serene,  and 
every  impression  that  his  contact  with  the  earth  had 
left  upon  him  was  removed.  His  hair  was  arranged 
by  his  sister's  direction,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  wear 
it  when  at  home,  and  his  clothes,  although  military, 
were  clean  and  nice. 

"He  is  fit  to  be  taken  to  his  mother  now,"  said 
Kate,  as  she  gazed  upon  him,  "  I  did  n't  expect  to  be 
able  to  take  him  home  in  so  good  a  condition ;  I  am 
very  thankful  indeed  that  I've  been  able  to  come 
here  and  see  to  his  removal.  Now,  I  must  set  out  for 
home  as  soon  as  I  can,  possibly." 

She  did  so,  for  no  persuasion  could  induce  her  to 
remain  longer  to  obtain  rest,  however  much  it  was 
needed,  because  she  knew  that  her  mother  was  anx- 
iously looking  for  her  return.  Having  sent  tidings  by 
telegraph  when  she  might  be  expected  with  the 
precious  remains  she  had  gone  to  obtain,  she  left  her 
newly  made  friends  in  and  around  the  capital.  She 
was  grateful  to  them  for  the  kindness  they  had  shown 
to  a  sorrowing  stranger,   and  with  a  hope  that   she 


58  BESSIE    AXD   RAYMOND. 

should  see  them  again,  began  her  homeward  journey 
with  a  lighter  heart  than  she  had  brought  to  Washing- 
ton. She  arrived  at  Oak  Dale  in  safety,  without  ex- 
periencing anything  to  add  to  the  painfullness  of  her 
situation,  and  felt  more  than  repaid  by  the  melancholy 
pleasure  her  mother  felt  at  the  result  of  her  under- 
taking. Kate  did  not  succumb  to  her  feelings  of  sor- 
row and  fatigue,  but  bore  up  and  helped  sustain  her 
mother  all  through  the  mournful  days  that  passed  after 
her  return.  She  saw  the  body  so  dear  to  her  placed 
in  its  last  resting-place,  and  she  saw,  too,  her  mother 
recover  slowly  from  her  trying  illness,  and  then  her 
outraged  physical  nature  would  and  did  have  its  re- 
venge. The  faithful  and  heroic  daughter  and  sister 
was  laid  low  by  sickness.  Only  for  a  few  weeks, 
however,  was  Kate  confined  to  her  room  ;  a  naturally 
good  constitution  triumphed  over  disease,  and  she  was 
again  in  the  dear  circle  of  her  friends. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  59 


CHAPTER    IX. 

More  of  Bessie. 

During  all  the  months  that  had  brought  so  much 
anguish  to  thousands,  whose  friends  had  taken  up 
arms  in  their  country's  cause,  Bessie's  life  had  been 
apparently  without  trial.  She  had  told  her  acquaint- 
ances she  had  no  sympathy  for  those  who  had  brought 
trouble  upon  themselves,  by  not  being  determined  that 
those  upon  whom  they  depend  for  happiness  should 
not  leave  them  to  go  to  war. 

"  If  1  had  been  disposed  to  remain  quiet,"  said  she, 
"  Raymond  would  have  been  away  now,  and  I  might 
have  been  very  unhappy,  but  I  knew  how  to  keep  him 
at  home,  and  I  have  managed  to  do  so  thus  far." 

"How  have  you  managed,  Miss  Jenkins?"  in- 
quired a  lady  who  was  in  her  company  one  day  at  the 
home  of  our  friend  Julia,  when  she  had  boastfully  as- 
serted that  she  had  exerted  herself  to  prevent  Ray- 
mond from  enlisting. 

"  0,  I  was  very  miserable,  of  course,  and  wept  a 
great  deal,  and  he  could  n't  bear  to  see  me  suffer,  he  is 
so  tender-hearted  ;  he  wanted  to  go  to  the  war,  but 
he  is  n't  fit  to  go  ;  he  is  altogether  too  chicken-hearted 
for  that.  Think  of  a  man,  who  is  melted  at  the  sight 
of  a  weeping  woman,  going  out  to  battle." 

Mrs.  Sedgwick,  the  elder,  was  present  at  this  time, 
and  had  remained  a  silent  listener  to  the  conversation, 
until  the  last  renfark  of  Bessie,  which  had  been  uttered 
so  thoughtlessly,  induced  her  to  reply. 


60  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"  Miss  Jenkins,"  said  that  lady,  somewhat  gravely, 
"  you  have  not  arrived  at  the  end  of  your  life's  jour- 
ney yet ;  you  have,  perhaps,  a  long  road  before  you ; 
it  may  be  a  thorny  one  in  spite  of  your  managing  to 
have  things  as  you  wish.  I  tremble  for  you  now,  as 
A'om  your  own  confession  you  have  dared  to  hinder  a 
patriotic  man  from  serving  his  country  at  an  hour 
when  she  needs  all  her  faithful  sons.  Chicken-hearted, 
as  you  call  him,  he  would,  with  his  strong  sympathies, 
make  a  better  soldier  than  if  he  was  hard-hearted  and 
stern.  One  thing  I  wish  you  to  remember,  and  that  is, 
that  God  can  as  easily  protect  our  friends  amid  the 
perils  of  war,  as  he  can  in  their  homes  ;  and  he  can,' 
too.  bring  evil  upon  those  who  are  near  us,  and  whom 
we  strive  too  often  in  vain  to  shield  from  danger  and 
harm.  You  may  yet  feel,  Bessie  Jenkins,  that  all  your 
management  cannot  save  Raymond  from  dreaded  ill." 

Soon  after,  Bessie  took  leave  of  the  Sedgwick 
family,  feeling  that  Frederic's  mother  was  severe 
towards  her.  "She  needn't  make  such  a  serious 
matter  of  my  unwillingness  to  have  those  I  love  shot 
at,"  said  she,  mentally  ;'"  I  feel  provoked  at  her  musty 
old  notions  about  folks  being  safe  anywhere,  if  Provi- 
dence sees  fit  to  protect  them  ;  for  my  part,  I  like  best 
to  see  that  my  friends  are  in  safe  places." 

With  her  mind  occupied  with  these  and  similar 
thoughts,  she  entered  her  mother's  house,  soon  after 
leaving  the  friend  she  deemed  so  unkind.  It  was 
towards  the  evening  of  a  day  in  early  autumn,  and 
the  twilight  was  fast  gathering  when  she  reached  her 
home.  "  Is  it  not  tea-time,  mother  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
she  saw,  on  entering  the  dining-room,  that  the  table 
was  not  spread. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  61 

11 1  don't  know  ;  no,  —  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  without  seeming  conscious  of  what  she  was 
saving,  as  she  stood  at  a  window,  with  her  back 
towards  the  door  by  which  Bessie  had  entered  the 
room. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  mother  ?  "  she  asked  in 
surprise,  as  she  hastened  to  her  side  ;  "  has  anything 
happened  ?  you  look  troubled ;  what  is  it  about  ?  do 
tell  me,  quick." 

Bessie  judged  rightly  ;  her  mother  was  troubled, 
more  on  her  daughter's  account,  however,  than  her 
own.  She  had  just  learned  the  fact  that  Raymond  had 
met  with  a  serious  accident.  She  knew  by  Bessie's 
manner  that  she  had  n't  heard  of  it,  and,  with  the 
remembrance  of  her  distress  at  the  thought  of  his 
being  exposed  to  injury  on  the  battle-field,  she  dreaded 
to  inform  her  of  the  painful  occurrence.  As  her 
mother  did  not  reply  at  once,  she  urged  her  to  tell  her 
if  she  was  ill. 

"  No,  Bessie,  I  am  not  ill ;  but  something  sad  has 
occurred  this  afternoon." 

"  Since  I  left  home,  mother  ?  have  you  heard  any- 
thing?" 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  and  it  must  be  since  you  went  out 
that  the  accident  to  Raymond  has  occurred." 

"Accident  to  Raymond!  what  has  happened  to 
him  ?   is  he  hurt  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  knocked  down,  and  run  over,  by  a 
frightened  horse,  and  badly  hurt." 

"  In  what  way  is  he  injured  ?  " 

"  How,  you  mean,  I  suppose,  but  I  do  not  know. 
A  message  was  brought  to  you,  from  his  mother,  just 
6 


62  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

before  you  came  in,  and  a  request  that  you  would  go 
to  her  house  as  soon  as  you  possibly  could." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  exclaimed  Bessie,  "  what  shall  I  do  ?  I 
don't  want  to  see  him  if  he  is  bruised  and  disfigured, 
and  yet  he  will  think  it  strange  if  I  don't  go  now  he 
has  sent  for  me." 

"To  be  sure  he  will,  and  you  must  go,  Bessie, 
right  away.  I  will  go  with  you,"  responded  her 
mother,  and  in  a  shorter  time  than  it  has  taken  us  to 
inform  our  readers  of  these  facts,  they  started  for  the 
residence  of  Raymond. 

Poor  Bessie  !  we  call  her  poor,  because  she  was  one 
of  those  unfortunate  individuals  who  has  more  heart 
than  soul.  She  would  shudder  and  turn  away  from  a 
suffering  fellow-being  at  any  time,  without  making  the 
slightest  effort  to  relieve  their  distress.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  door,  they  were  told  by  the  mother  of 
Raymond,  who  was  in  the  hall,  on  the  way  to  the 
chamber  of  her  son,  as  they  rang  for  admission,  that 
his  head  was  much  hurt. 

Bessie  drew  back,  involuntarily,  saying,  "then  we 
had  better  not  go  in  to  disturb  him." 

"  Indeed,  you  must  go  in ;  he  is  not  entirely  con- 
scious now,  but  he  will  no  doubt  look  anxiously  for 
you,  Bessie,  at  the  first  lucid  interval,  and  for  that 
reason  I  sent  for  you.     You  will  stay  here,  of  course." 

"  How  can  I  ?  I  shall  not  know  how  to  do  anything 
for  Raymond  ;  and  it  will  be  so  terrible  to  see  him, 
with  his  head  injured  so  much." 

"  You  have  n't  promised  to  be  his  friend  only  in  fair 
weather,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no  ;  but  I  never  thought  of  his  being  hurt 
so,  here  at  home." 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  63 

"  Perhaps  if  he  had  n't  been  kept  from  doing  what 
he  thought  was  his  duty,  he  might  have  remained 
unhurt  at  this  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Philips,  in  a  tone 
somewhat  reproachful,  at  the  same  time  beginning  to 
ascend  the  stairs,  saying,  "  you  must  excuse  me,  if 
you  will  not  go  with  me,  ladies,  for  I  must  go  to  my 
son." 

"  Come,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  taking  Bessie  by  the 
arm,  "we  will  go  with  Mrs.  Philips." 

Bessie  moved  mechanically,  and  the  trio  entered  the 
chamber.  Raymond's  mother  approached  the  bed- 
side with  gentle  tread,  while  Bessie  sank  into  a  chair 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Jenkins 
moved  nearer  the  sufferer,  and  asked  in  a  whisper, 
"  how  does  he  seem  now  ?  " 

"  He  appears  to  be  sleeping,  just  now." 

It  was  true,  Raymond  was  dozing,  yet  his  naps  were 
disturbed,  and  he  murmured  incoherently.  Bessie's 
name  was  pronounced  several  times  in  a  faint  tone. 
At  length  he  spoke  louder,  and  said  distinctly,  "  won't 
she  come  to  me  ?  " 

His  mother  bent  over  him  ;  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  anxiously  in  her  face  a  moment,  but  he  could 
not  bear  the  least  degree  of  light,  and  he  closed  them 
immediately,  saying,  "  I  wonder  what  has  happened." 

The  physician  who  had  been  called  to  him,  came  in 
for  the  third  time,  since  Raymond  had  been  injured,  and 
taking  his  pulse,  gave  as  his  opinion  that  the  young 
man  had  held  his  own  for  the  last  two  hours.  He 
gave  strict  orders  for  the  room  to  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet.  "  Let  none  be  admitted  who  are  not  needed  to 
take  care  of  the  patient,"  said  the  doctor,  glancing  at 
Bessie  and  her  mother  as  he  spoke. 


64  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"These  are  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Phillips,  "  who  wih 
be  useful  at  this  bedside,  I  trust,"  introducing  them 
to  the  physician. 

"  Then  they  may  remain  if  they  wish/'  responded  he, 
bowing  politely  to  each  of  them,  "  but  no  common 
acquaintances  must  be  allowed  to  intrude,  as  the  life  of 
Air.  Philips  depends  upon  his  being  kept  from  anything 
like  excitement." 

When  the  doctor  left  the  chamber,  Bessie  followed 
him,  and  inquired  anxiously  in  regard  to  his  chances 
for  recovery. 

"He  is  young  and  strong,"  replied  the  physician, 
"  and  with  great  care  he  may  possibly  get  well  again  ; 
but  I  think  he  will  carry  the  marks  of  his  injuries,  on 
his  face,  to  his  grave,  even  if  he  lives  a  long  life." 

Seeing  Bessie  turn  pale,  he  continued,  "  the  scars, 
however,  will  be  of  little  consequence,  if  his  life  and 
reason  are  spared  to  him." 

Bessie,  shuddering,  said,  "  0,  dear,"  as  the  doctor 
left  her.  Her  mother  came  out  of  the  sick-room  just 
as  the  physician  disappeared,  and  told  her  daughter 
that  Raymond  had  asked  for  her. 

"Then  I  will  try  and  see  him,"  said  she,  "but  I 
don't  wish  to." 

It  was  evident  to  those  who  saw  Bessie  approach 
the  sick-bed,  that  she  shrank  from  the  trial.  She 
trembled 'and  turned  pale,  and  Mrs.  Philips,  fearing 
she  might  fall,  put  her  arm  around  her  waist  and  sup- 
ported her,  while  her  mother  hastened  to  place  a  chair 
beside  the  beef. 

"Bessie,"  said  Raymond,  in  a  faint  tone,  as  he 
extended  his  hand  to  her,  "  don't  feel  so  badly  about 
me  ;  my  injuries  are  nothing  compared  with  what  they' 
might  have  been." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  (55 

"0,  dear,"  exclaimed  the  young  lady,  interrupting 
him  ;  "  they  are  very  dreadful,  I  am  sure  ;  I  can't  bear 
to  look  at  you,  and  see  you  so  disfigured  ;  what  shall 
we  do  ?  " 

"  Be  patient,  my  dear  girl,  and  thankful  for  the  mer- 
cies we  are  experiencing  at  this  moment." 

"  I  don't  see  any  great  mercy  in  your  being  almost 
killed,  and  your  head  and  face  cut  as  it  is,  I'm  sure." 

"I  feel,"  said  Mrs.  Philips,  "that  the  life  that  is 
spared  is  so  valuable  to  me,  at  least,  that  it  is  a  cause 
of  great  gratitude  in  my  case.  The  doctor  hopes  that 
with  good  care  he  will  get  well,  and  if  he  is  obliged 
to  carry  the  marks  of  his  injuries  during  life,  he  will 
not  be  disgraced  by  them." 

"  0,  dear,"  was  all  the  response  made  by  Bessie. 
Her  mother  chid  her  gently  for  making  such  a  demon- 
stration of  saddened  feeling  in  the  presence  of  the 
sufferer,  and  intimated  that  it  would  be  best  for  her  to 
absent  herself  from  the  room  until  she  could  better 
command  her  feelings. 

"  She  is  nervous,  poor  child,"  said  she  to  Mrs. 
Philips,  "  and  unfit,  just  now,  to  witness  suffering. " 

The  lady  addressed  did  not  reply,  for  a  multitude 
of  thoughts  came  rushing  into  her  mind  at  this 
moment,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  deprive  her  of  the 
power  of  speech.  Mrs.  Jenkins  approached  the  bed, 
and  bending  over  Kaymond,  whispered  in  his  ear 
expressions  of  sympathy,  trying  to  excuse  her  daugh- 
ter at  the  same  time  by  telling  him  that  she  was  so 
very  nervous  she  could  not  control  her  feelings  as  she 
ought. 

"  Will  Bessie  leave  me,  and  go  away  now,  without 
6* 


66  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

saying  any  more  to  me?"  asked  Raymond,    with  a 
look  expressive  of  both  regret  and  surprise. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  best  for  her  to  go  now,  and  come 
affain  when  she  is  in  a  better  condition." 

o 

11 1  fear  that  will  never  be/'  remarked  Mrs.  Philips, 
drily,  and  with  a  spice  of  contempt  in  her  manner  of 
expression. 

"I  am  sorry  Bessie  is  so  nervous,"  replied  her 
mother,  with  a  sigh,  "but  it  cannot  be  helped,  I  fear." 

While  this  conversation  between  the  mothers  was 
being  held,  the  daughter  arose  slowly  from  her  chair, 
and  walked  towards  the  door.  Her  mother  followed 
her  and  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone,  which  caused 
her  to  stop,  and  with  a  shudder  turn  herself  around 
and  approach  the  bed.  Her  face  was  concealed  by 
her  handkerchief,  until  Raymond  addressed  her,  asking 
if  she  must  go  so  soon. 

"  I  think  I  must,"  she  replied  in  tremulous  accents, 
"  but  I  hope  you  will  hurry  and  get  well,  Raymond, 
so  it  wont  make  me  feel  so  bad  to  look  at  you." 

"  But  suppose  I  shouldn't  look  much  better,  would 
you  desert  me  on  that  account,  Bessie  ?  " 

This  question  was  asked  with  deep  feeling.  "  I 
should  feel  very  sorry  to  have  it  so,  —  I  mean  to  have 
your  face  scarred  after  you  get  well." 

"  Good  night,  Bessie,"  was  all  the  reply  that  Ray- 
mond trusted  himself  to  make  to  this  last  assertion,  and 
Bessie  and  her  mother  withdrew  from  the  room,  and 
from  the  house  also,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  Mrs. 
Philips.  She  knew  that  the  heart  of  her  son  had  been 
pained,  and  on  that  account  she  regretted  that  Bessie 
had  been  permitted  to  see  him.  However,  she  forbore 
any  allusion  to  the  visit  of  the  ladies,  but  exerted  her- 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  67 

self  to  do  all  she  could,  to  relieve  the  suffering  that  she 
might  administer  to.  The  heart  wound  she  could  not 
touch,  much  as  she  longed  to  comfort  him,  who  was  so 
dear  to  her. 

The  next  day,  Bessie  sent  one  of  her  brothers  to  in- 
quire about  Raymond,  but  did  not  venture  to  call  her- 
self;  her  brother  said  she  did  n't  feel  able  to  do  so. 

''Is  she  sick  t"  asked  Mrs.  Philips,  who  met  the 
boy  at  the  door. 

'•  Xo,  ma'am,  not  sick,  but  dreadfully  fidgetty ; 
mother  says  she  isn't  fit  to  go  out." 

"  She  had  better  stay  at  home,  then,"  said  the  lady, 
"Raymond  needs  comfort,  and  it  is  better  that  none 
but  cheerful  faces  should  be  about  him." 

Some  messenger  was  sent  daily  for  more  than  a 
week  to  make  inquiries  respecting  Raymond,  but  Bes- 
sie didn't  call  upon  him  in  that  time.  Her  mother 
went  once,  and  endeavored  to  apologize  for  her  daugh- 
ter's not  having  been  able  to  go. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  she,  "  that  you  are  getting  bet- 
ter ;  I  don't  think  that  scar  upon  your  forehead  will 
hurt  your  looks,  much  ;  indeed  I  don't." 

"'Handsome  is,  that  handsome  does,'  Mrs.  Jen- 
kins," remarked  Raymond's  mother  with  a  smile. 

"  That  is  true,  and  yet  young  girls  do  feel  proud  to 
have  a  handsome  young  man  to  escort  them  about." 
"  I  regret  very  much,"  said  the  young  man,  speak- 
ing with  great  earnestness,  "  that  this  wound,  which 
is  likely  to  leave  its  mark  upon  my  brow  through  all 
my  life,  was  not  received  by  me  while  serving  my 
country.  I  feci  now  that  I  have  done  wrong  in  not 
going  forth  In  her  defence,  when  I  wished  to  ;  how- 
ever, the  past  cannot  be  recalled,  much  as  I  regret  the 


68  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

part  I  have  acted ;  but  if  firm  health  is  once  more 
granted  me  by  indulgent  Heaven,  I  am  firmly  resolved 
to  become  a  soldier,  and  use  my  strong  right  arm  in 
defending  the  dear  old  stars  and  stripes." 

"  That,  then,  is  your  determination,"  said  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  "  will  you  go  if  Bessie 
grieves  about  it  as  she  did  at  the  thought  of  your 
going  some  time  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  that  will  not  make  me  pause 
and  retreat  from  the  very  threshold  of  duty  again  ; 
I  have  been  chastised  for  that  sin,  and  shall  not,  I 
trust,  soon  forget  the  wormwood  and  the  gall  of  my 
chastisement." 

"  You  are  willing,  I  suppose  that  Bessie  shall  be 
told  what  you  have  just  said  ?  " 

11  0  yes,  ma'am,  very  willing." 

Mrs.  Philips  heard  this  conversation  in  silence  ;  she 
was  not  surprised  at  the  change  in  the  feelings  of  her 
son,  for  she  had  hoped  and  prayed  that 'it  might  take 
place.  She  knew  that  he  had  been  led  to  reflect  much 
in  his  late  confinement  from  company,  upon  the  childish 
conduct  of  the  young  woman  whom  he  had  imagined 
so  lovely  and  good,  suitable  to  be  the  sharer  of  his  joys 
and  sorrows.  .  On  reviewing  the  past,  he  began  to  see 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  not  endeavoring  more 
earnestly  to  lead  Bessie  to  set  up  a  higher  standard  of 
action  for  herself,  rather  than,  by  indulging  her  mor- 
bidness, lead  her  to  cherish  her  selfish  feelings,  as  he 
felt  sure  he  had  done,  by  being  moved  as  he  had  been 
by  her  grief  at  the  idea  of  his  going  to  the  war. 

Raymond  lay  some  time  absorbed  in  deep  reflection, 
then  spoke  in  a  cheerful  tone  to  his  motl*.T,  who  was 
sitting  by  his  side,   busy  at  work,  asking  her  if  she 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  G9 

should  object  to  his  going  away  to  join  the  army. 
Mrs.  Philips  raised  her  head,  and  looking  in  his  face 
with  an  expression  of  maternal  affection  upon  her  own, 
said,  "  I  think  I  cannot,  I  dare  not,  if  you  are  able  to 
go,  but  what  will  you  do  about  Bessie,  if  she  behaves 
as  she  did  when  you  talked  of  going  before." 

"  I  cannot  help  hoping  that  she  wil]  change  iasome 
respects  ;  I  have  done  wrong  in  encouraging  her  to 
act  only  from  impulse.  Henceforth  I  must  do  my 
duty,  and  leave  results  with  the  All-Powerful  One 
above.  Don't  judge  Bessie  harshly,  mother  ;  I  know 
you  think  she  has  acted  selfishly  towards  me  since  I 
have  been  ill  ;  I  will  not  say  she  has  not,  yet  others 
are  to  blame  besides  her  ;  she  has  been  taught  in  a 
school  that  has  made  her  a  creature  of  mere  feeling  or 
impulse.  I  know  you  will  be  tempted  to  treat  her 
coldly  if  she  calls  on  us  again,  but  I  beg  you  to  re- 
ceive her  as  kindly  as  possible." 

As  his  mother  did  not  reply  immediately,  he  asked, 
"  Will  you,  mother,  for  my  sake  ?  " 

"Yes,  Raymond,  and  for  the  sake  of  trying  to 
do  the  girl  good.  I  am  glad  you  are  beginning  to 
look  at  things  through  a  better  medium  than  your  im- 
agination ;  it  is  seldom  too  late  to  change  for  the 
better." 


70  BESSIE   AND   EAYMOND, 


CHAPTER  X. 

We  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth." 

Raymond  had  endured  a  great  conflict,  from  the 
time  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  governed  by  Bessie's 
tears  and  entreaties  in  regard  to  going  to  the  war. 
It  is  not  possible  for  a  good  man  to  do  wrong  and 
not  be  made  more  or  less  unhappy  by  so  doing.  A 
violated  conscience  will  assert  its  claim  too  constantly 
to  let  the  sinner  enjoy  peace.  Raymond  had  tried  to 
reconcile  his  conscience  to  his  acts  in  regard  to  Bes- 
sie, but  he  could  not ;  he  felt  less  sure  that  he  was 
doing  right  every  day  as  the  time  passed  away,  yet 
he  had  not  courage  to  tell  Bessie  that  he  felt  he 
was  doing  wrong,  and  that  she  was  the  cause  of  his 
doing  what  he  felt  condemned  for,  continually.  He 
felt,  as  soon  as  consciousness  was  restored  after  he 
was  injured,  as  it  were  in  an  instant,  and  well-nigh 
fatally,  that  this  casualty  was  sent  as  a  rebuke  to 
himself,  and  Bessie  also.  He  pondered  the  subject 
long,  ere  he  decided  to  leave  the  consequences  of  doing 
his  duty  unconditionally  with  a  higher  power,  but  he 
did  resolve  and  firmly  too,  to  do  right  at  all  hazards. 
He  felt  happier  then,  than  he  had  done  during  the 
long  season  spent  in  the  struggle  with  duty  and  in- 
clination. His  purpose  was  high  and  noble  now  ;  in 
dependence  on  God,  he  would  go  forward  in  the  path 
of  duty,  even  if  he  should  be  opposed  by  those  dearest 
to  him  on  earth.  lie  recovered  rapidly  from  the  effects 
of  the  injuries  he  had  received. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  71 

Bessie  called  upon  Raymond  several  times  before  ho 
was  able  to  leave  his  room.  It  grieved  him  to  be 
obliged  to  sec  the  horror  she  evinced,  whenever  she 
gazed  upon  the  unfortunate  wound  in  his  forehead  ; 
he  had  examined  it  himself  in  a  mirror,  and  felt  con- 
vinced that  he  would  be  obliged  to  carry  a  deep  scar 
to  his  grave,  yet  he  was  not  troubled  at  the  thought 
at  all.  His  brow  of  course  was  less  fair,  but  there 
was  nothing  horrifying  in  the  appearance  of  it  in  his 
view,  %v  in  his  mother's.  Why  need  Bessie  be  so 
shocked  at  the  sight  of  it ;  did  she  love  him  merely  be- 
cause she  thought  him  handsome  ?  He  did  not  like  to 
think  it  possible  ;  he  could  not  believe  his  Bessie  was 
so  weak-minded  ;  her  nervous  organization  was  ex- 
ceedingly delicate,  and  would  not  admit  of  her  look- 
ing upon  the  wound  without  a  shudder,  because  it 
reminded  her  of  the  pain  that  wound  had  caused  him. 

So  love  reasoned,  if  not  logically,  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  convince  our  friend  Raymond  that  his  Bessie  was 
less  selfish  than  others  considered  her. 

Neither  Bessie  nor  Raymond  approached  the  war 
subject  until  the  latter  was  able  to  walk  abroad.  It 
was  then,  on  one  of  his  visits  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  that  he  spoke  of  his  plans  to  her  daughter 
for  the  first  time  in  more  than  a  year.  Bessie  had 
felt  sure  that  Raymond  would  never  enlist  in  his 
country's  service,  and  the  matter  once  so  agitating  had 
ceased  to  trouble  her.  Her  mother,  too,  had  forborne 
to  tell  Bessie  what  Raymond  had  said  to  her  about 
joining  the  army,  thinking  it  not  worth  her  while,  as 
the  young  man  might  be  under  the  influence  of  excite- 
ment at  the  time,  which  would  probably  pass  away  and 
cause  him  to    change  his   mind.      Bessie's  surprise, 


72  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

therefore,  was  great  when  she  was  told  by  Raymond 
that  he  had  resolved  to  go  forth  to  fight  for  his  flag,  as 
soon  as  his  strength  should  be  restored  to  him. 

"  You  will  not  go,  if  I  don't  consent  to  your  doing 
so,  certainly/7  said  the  young  lady,  regarding  him 
with  a  look  of  unfeigned  surprise  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  I  dare  not  yield  to  your  persuasion 
again  to  stay  at  home,  when  duty  bids  me  go.'7 

"  Duty,  that  hateful  word  again,77  was  all  the  re- 
sponse she  deigned,  and  then  sat  in  sullen  silence  un- 
til Raymond  spoke,  saying,  "  Not  hateful,  my  dear  girl, 
when  we  are  willing  to  do  right.  It  is  indeed  trying, 
sometimes,  to  be  obliged  to  run  the  risk  of  bringing 
upon  ourselves  consequences  that  are  painful,  but  even 
then,  duty  is  not  a  hateful  word.  Bessie,  I  struggled 
hard  and  long  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  do 
right,  at  all  hazards,  but  I  have  gained  the  victory 
over  my  weakness.  The  accident  that  befell  me  was 
sent  in  mercy  as  a  rebuke  to  my  fearfulness  ;  not  fear- 
fulness  in  regard  to  meeting  the  enemies  of  my  native 
land,  but  in  respect  to  giving  you  pain,  Bessie.  I 
have  been  a  coward  in  a  moral  sense  ;  I  am  stronger 
than  you,  and  my  strength  should  be  used  to  assist 
you.  I  am  firmly  resolved  now  what  to  do,  even  if  it 
leads  to  your  breaking  your  engagement  to  become 
mine  ;  I  must  leave  for  a  season,  for  my,  or  our  country 
needs  me  ;  I  feel  that  she  does.77 

"  You  are  only  one  man,  besides  you  are  not  a  mili- 
tary man.77 

"  Not  drilled,  you  mean,  Bessie,  but,  God  helping 
me,  this  shall  not  be  truthfully  said  of  me  long.  Where 
a  man's  heart  is  in  his  work  it  must,  of  necessity, 
prosper  ;  I  know  I  shall  make  a  soldier.'7 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  73 

u  But  think  of  the  vile  influences  of  camp  life,  how 
corrupting  ;  you  may  not  be  able  to  withstand  it, 
more  than  many  others  ;  even  clergymen  have  fallen 
victims  to  its  power/' 

"  I  admit  all  you  say,  Bessie,  to  be  true.  At  the 
same  time,  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  myself  in  the  hands 
of  God,  even  in  an  irreligious  camp,  when  duty  bids 
me  enter  one.  I  cannot  keep  myself  from  evil  here  ;  I 
must  rely  upon  the  same  Power  for  protection  in  every 
place.  All  we  have  to  do,  my  dear  girl,  is  to  learn 
which  way  duty  leads,  and  then  walk  boldly  in  its 
path,  trusting  results  to  Omnipotence.  Every  day 
duty  must  be  done  ;  we  are  not  to  look  forward  ex- 
cept to  think  of  the  rest  that  remains  to  us,  if  we  are 
faithful. 

1  Guide  Thou  my  feet,  I  would  not  ask  to  see 
The  future  scene,  one  step  's  enough  for  me/ 

"  Cannot  you  unite  with  me,  in  adopting  that  sen- 
timent of  the  poet,  Bessie  ?  "  asked  Raymond. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do  ;  I  don't  know  any- 
thing or  feel  anything  now  ;  I  am  almost  stunned  with 
what  you  have  been  saying  to  me.  It  was  so  entirely 
unexpected  ;  you  have  never  said  a  word  about  your 
feelings,  and  I  thought  you  were  content  to  stay  at 
home.  I  feel  distressed,  but  your  mind  is  made  up, 
and  I  must  do  the  best  I  can,  I  suppose." 

"  0,  my  dear  Bessie,  if  you  only  will  do  that,  we 
shall  both  be  blest." 

"  Do  what  ?  "  interrogated  the  young  lady,  in  a 'de- 
sponding tone. 

"  The  best  you  can  do  ;  why,  that  is  all  I  desire,  for 
then  you  will  be  enabled  to  leave  me,  and  every  object 


74  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

that  interests  you,  in  hands  that  are  sufficiently  power- 
ful to  take  care  of  all  things.  Try  to  be  cheerful, 
Bessie,  for  my  sake.  I  shall  love  to  think  of  you  when 
I  am  gone,  as  being  cheerfully  employed  in  doing 
what  your  hands  find  to  do.  I  want  your  face  to  be 
adorned  with  an  habitual  smile,  a  smile  of  content." 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  it  is  your  duty  to  go  to  fight- 
ing ;  you,  who  have  always  been  a  peaceable  man,  to 
change  so." 

"  I  have  n't  changed,  Bessie  ;  I  am  still  a  peaceable 
man.  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  men  cannot  go  out 
to  the  battle-field,  to  save  their  Government,  and  all 
that's  dear  to  every  true  patriot,  from  violation,  with- 
out malice  in  their  hearts." 

"  All  men  who  go  to  war,  are  not  patriots  ;  some  go 
for  the  sake  of  excitement,  and  some,  I  have  heard 
say,  went  because  they  might  as  well  fight  for  a  living 
as  do  anything  else  ;  while  others  declare  that  they 
want  to  kill  the  Rebels.  I  don't  think  there  are  many 
good  men  in  the  army,  do  you,  Raymond  ?  " 

"  As  large  a  majority  as  can  be  found,  I  suppose,  in 
any  assemblage  of  men  ;  there  are  always  Judases  in 
every  gathering.  Our  army  is  composed  of  a  vast 
multitude  ;  it  is  hardly  fair  to  infer  that  every  twelfth 
man  is  unprincipled  who  helps  to  make  it  up,  and  it  is 
true  that  only  eleven  among  the  twelve  followers  of  our 
Saviour,  were  sincere.  I  feel  that  God-fearing  men 
are  needed  in  our  army  at  this  time.  The  contest  in 
which  wc  are  engaged  is  between  right  and  wrong  ;  it 
has  been  termed  a  war  of  Jehovah.  I  want  to  do  my 
part  in  striving  to  free  our  land  of  treason  and  Rebel- 
lion, and  I  feel  that  woe  be  to  me  if  I  hold  back." 

This   conversation  is  only  one   of  many,  similar  in 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  75 

their  features  to  this,  which  were  held  between  Bessie 
and  Raymond  during  the  few  days  that  followed.  She 
ditl  not  now  try  to  overcome  his  resolution  with  sobs 
and  tears,  as  she  did  before,  for  something  in  Ray- 
mond's manner  awed  her  ;  she  did  not  ask  for  proof 
that  she  was  beloved  by  him,  and  she  felt  that  his 
motives  must  be  disinterested  and  pure  in  leaving  her. 
He  seemed  upborne  by  a  Power  which  she  feared  to 
oppose  openly,  and  Raymond  went  away,  feeling  that 
the  discipline  meted  out  to  his  Bessie  would  be  salu- 
tary. He  did  not  allow  her  time  to  weep  a  long  adieu  ; 
he  felt  it  would  not  be  well  for  either  of  them,  and  so 
put  off  the  disagreeable  formality  until  the  latest 
moment,  and  then,  with  a  hasty  "Good  by"  and 
"  God  bless  you,"  was  whirled  over  the  road,  that 
soon-  separated  them,  with  locomotive  speed. 

"How  soon  he  loosened  his  clasp  of  my  hand,'7 
thought  Bessie,  as  she  stood  looking  after  the  depart- 
ing train,  scarcely  conscious  that  she  was  surrounded 
by  a  motley  throng,  whose  hearts  were  beating  in 
sympathy  with  hers  at  that  hour.  Yet  it  was  even 
so ;  many  a  tear  was  shed,  and  many  a  heart-ache  was 
being  endured  in  silence  then,  as  the  swiftly-moving 
train  was  bearing  away  its  freight  of  loved  objects. 
^Mothers  had  seen  their  sons  depart,  sisters  their 
brothers,  and  wives  their  husbands.  This  scene  was 
only  one  of  the  many,  in  the  dark  programme  of  the 
war,  and  it  must  pass  along.  Some  murmured,  and 
refused  to  be  reconciled  ;  but  others  felt  that  a  stern 
necessity  demanded  the  sacrifice,  and  they  accepted 
this  choice  of  evils. 

Bessie  did  nut  move  from  the  spot  where  Jfcaymond 
left  her  standing,  until  her  mother  reminded  her  that 


76  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

she  was  standing  too  long,  and  ought  to  be  moving 
away. 

"  I  will  go,  mother,' '  said  she,  pensively,  and  then 
began  to  walk  slowly  away,  when  they  encountered 
Mrs.  Sedgwick,  Frederic's  mother.  She  looked  at 
Bessie,  with  a  feeling  of  sympathy  manifested  in  her 
open  countenance,  shook  hands  with  both  mother  and 
daughter,  saying  :  "I  did  not  see  you  before  the  cars 
started,  but  I  saw  Raymond,  and  bade  him  good  by, 
though  I  need  n't  have  come  to  the  depot  for  that, 
only  I  wanted  to  put  into  his  hand  a  little  memento 
of  my  regard  for  him,  and  my  interest  in  the  cause  he 
has  espoused." 

"lam  glad  you  did  come,"  said  Bessie  ;  "  but,  oh, 
Mrs.  Sedgwick,  what  shall  I  do  all  the  long  months 
he  is  away  ?  I  did  n't  dare  to  try  to  persuade  him 
from  going,  yet  his  leaving  me  so  seems  dreadful ;  but 
I  promised  him  I  would  try  and  do  the  best  I  could." 

"You  will  keep  your  promise,  Bessie?"  said  her, 
friend,  in  a  kind  tone. 

"  I  intend  to  try,  but  this  trial  has  come  upon  me  so 
unexpectedly.  I  had  no  thought  of  such  a  thing,  and 
my  head  has  done  nothing  but  whirl  around,  these 
last  few  days.  It  seems  to  me  much  as  if  I  had  had 
a  disagreeable  dream.  What  will  come  next,  I  won- 
der ?  " 

"  Not  anything  but  what  you  will  be  enabled  to 
bear,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Sedgwick  ;  "  and  now 
don't  pass  our  house  without  calling  ;  here  we  are  at 
the  door  now,  and  Julia  will  sympathize  with  you  with 
all  her  heart." 

"  She  knows  how,  truly,"  remarked  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
as  they  entered  the  house.     The  ladies   found  Julia 


BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND.  7  7 

ready  to  mingle  her  tears  with  Bessie,  yet  she  could 
nut  take  time  to  weep  long.  A  letter  had  just  been 
brought,  informing  her  that  her  husband  was  sick  at  a 
hospital,  near  Washington.  He  had  been  slightly 
wounded,  in  a  skirmish  with  the  foe,  and  although  he 
could  not  expect  to  see  her,  or  any  of  his  friends,  it 
would,  he  said,  gladden  his  heart  to  do  so.  Over- 
exertion had  done  as  much  to  lay  him  aside  as  his 
wound  ;  that  was  merely  a  flesh  wound,  which  would 
probably  heal  soon. 

"  Mother,  I  want  to  go  and  see  Frederic  :  it  would 
do  him  good  to  have  me  go  to  him." 

"  But,  child,  I  fear  you  could  not  be  with  him  but  a 
short  time  ;  perhaps  you  would  be  troubled  to  get  a 
pass  to  enter  the  hospital ;  some  have,  you  know  ;  then 
you  would  weary  yourself  with  the  journey,  to  no 
purpose." 

"  I  cannot  think  so  ;  even  should  I  not  succeed  in  my 
attempts  to  be  with  him  as  I  wish,  he  will  know  that 
I  have  done  all  I  could  for  him,  and  that  will  be  a 
comfort." 

"There  is  not  one  person  that  you  could  ask  to 
accompany  you,  daughter." 

"  No  matter ;  I  can  go  alone  safely,  I  am  not  timid 
when  'tis  necessary  to  have  courage.  Don't  dis- 
courage me,  mother,  but  say  I  may  go,  and  you  will 
help  me." 

"  If  Kate  could  go  with  you  I  would  not  object, 
Julia/1  was  the  mother's  rejoinder. 

"Poor  Kate,"  said   Julia;    "she  will  go,   I  dare 

say,  if  she  can  leave  home  ;  I  will  despatch  a  letter  to 

her  immediately,  and  ask  her  to  meet  me  at  New  York. 

Let's  see  ;   't  is  Monday  now,  I  can  hurry  and  mail  a 

7* 


78  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

letter  that  will  reach  her  to-morrow  night,  and  she  can 
reach  New  York  and  find  me  at  the  depot,  on  Thursday 
morning." 

Julia  at  once  carried  her  plan  of  writing  into  ex- 
ecution ;  she  could  not  wait  for  Kate  to  reply  to  her 
letter,  but  she  did  not  shrink  from  going  alone,  if  she 
should  by  any  means  fail  of  having  her  cousin's  com- 
pany. Her  mother  Sedgwick  felt  some  anxiety  about 
the  matter,  but  Julia  was  hopeful  and  courageous, 
and  so  the  good  lady  left  the  affair  as  it  was.  She 
saw  Julia  depart,  taking  what  little  comforts  she  could 
in  haste  manage  to  prepare,  to  the  loved  husband  and 
son. 

Bessie  offered,  her  services  to  assist  the  devoted 
young  wife  to  get  ready  for  her  journey,  and  there 
seemed  so  much  heart  in  the  offer,  that  Julia  could 
not  decline  accepting  it,  and  so  Bessie  was  at  her 
house  most  of  the  time  after  the  letter  came  which  has 
been  referred  too.  She  also  accompanied  Julia  to  the 
depot,  and  saw  her  borne  away  in  the  train.  All  this 
time  she  never  paused  once  in  her  labor  of  love,  to  sit 
down  and;  indulge  in  a  fit  of  weeping.  After  Julia 
had  gone  out  of  her  sight,  Bessie  returned  home,  think- 
ing how  great  a  change  had  come  suddenly  to  more 
than  one  home,  and  wondering  that  she  could  think  of 
her  own  trials  with  so  little  feeling. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  79 


CHAPTER  XI; 

"There  is  a  faith  towards  men." 

We  must  leave  Julia  on  her  way  to  the  capital,  and 
go  back  a  little  in  our  story.  Frederic,  it  will  be 
remembered,  joined  the  army  by  enlisting  in  its  ranks  ; 
he  preferred  doing  so,  for  he  was  not  acquainted  with 
military  tactics,  and  without  some  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  fill  an  office  well,  he  shrank  from  holding 
one. 

"I  can  serve  my  country  as  'high  private/  very 
well,"  he  remarked,  when  rallied  upon  what  some 
called  his  queer  notions  ;  "If  I'm  not  fit  for  a  private, 
surely  I'm  not  fit  for  an  officer, "  he  good-naturedly 
replied  ;  and  those  who  rallied  him  most  were  content 
to  respect  his  straightforward,  manly  decision,  although 
it  was  contrary  to  their  judgment.  There  were  few 
who  would  not  have  felt  glad  if  Frederic  Sedgwick 
had  received  a  Lieutenant's  commission  before  he  left 
his  home,  for  he  was  a  young  man  who  had  won  the 
respect  of  most  people  who  knew  him. 

Many  followed  his  example  in  enlisting,  who  would 
not  have  been  willing  to  serve  their  country  as  a 
common  soldier,  had  not  Frederic  Sedgwick  done  so. 
On  the  march,  and  in  the  camp,  his  influence  for  good 
was  felt.  In  the  hour  of  imminent  peril  he  was  self- 
possessed  and  brave,  modestly  shrinking  from  any- 
thing like  presumption  or  vainglory.  He  took  part, 
as  a  private,  in  the  battle  of  Fair  Oaks,  and  was  pro- 


80  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

moted,  for  his  soldierly  bearing,  by  receiving  a  com- 
mission for  second  lieutenancy.  It  was  -evident  that 
his  motive  in  being  at  the  seat  of  war  was  disinter- 
ested ;  he  loved  his  country,  and  that  love  he  had,  as 
it  were,  nursed  from  his  mother  in  his  babyhood. 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  was  a  noble,  patriotic  woman,  and 
Frederic  honored  her ;  he  loved  to  do  so.  He  wrote 
to  his  wife  and  mother,  after  he  had  been  promoted, 
giving  them  an  account  of  the  engagement  in  which 
he  had  taken  part ;  afterwards  he  spoke  of  his  promo- 
tion. 

"  I  was  not  looking  for  promotion/'  said  he,  "but 
I  have  been  made  second  lieutenant.  I  do  not  object 
to  having  a  commission,  on  any  account,  and  for  some 
reasons  I  am  very  glad  to  have  it  so.  I  shall  have  a 
chance  to  do  more  for  the  men,  and  it  is  the  privates 
that  we  must  look  to  and  depend  upon  to  fight  our 
battles.  I  want  to  do  all  I  "can  ;  I  fear  that  many  in 
our  army  and  navy  care  too  little  for  anything  but 
their  pay.  I  have  seen  enough  of  this  mercenary 
spirit  to  shock  me." 

A  few  months  later  he  was  again  promoted,  and 
although  laid  aside  from  duty  at  the  time  he  wrote 
home,  of  his  illness,  he  was  considered  a  candidate 
for  higher  promotion  still.  He  knew  this,  and  was,  too, 
aware  that  he  was  liable  to  be  ordered  to  a  depart- 
ment of  the  army  much  more  remote  from  his  home 
than  any  post  to  which  he  had  been  ordered  hereto- 
fore. 

As  he  lay  one  day  on  his  couch  in  the  hospital,  with 
closed  eyes,  thinking  of  home,  and  how  glad  he  should 
be  to  see  his  loved  ones  there,  he  heard  gentle  foot- 
steps approaching  his  bed.     He  had  often  heard  sim- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  81 

ilar  sounds,  and  thought  that  some  poor  fellow  was  to 
receive  a  visit  from  some  female  friend,  and  congratu- 
lated him  in  his  heart.  As  the  step  was  arrested  at 
his  bedside,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  standing  near 
by  his  wife,  and  her  friend  Kate  Sisson.  His  surprise 
scarcely  equalled  his  joy  at  beholding  them. 

"  You  did  n't  tell  me  in  your  letter  that  you  were 
coming,  Julia/'  said  he. 

"I  thought  it  better  not  to,  lest  something  might 
prevent  my  coming ;  and  then  I  feared^  too,  that  if 
you  knew  I  was  on  the  way,  you  would  feel  anxious, 
and  the  anxiety  would  injure  you,  in  your  feeble 
state." 

"  You  were  kind  and  thoughtful,  indeed,  and  Kate 
is  very  kind,  also,  to  accompany  you." 

"  Not  very,  I  am  sure,"  said  Kate  ;  "  it  is  certainly 
very  pleasant  to  me  to  come  here  with  your  wife, 
Captain,  as  we  must  call  you  now.  I  feel  very  glad 
that  she  gave  me  an  invitation  to  accompany  her.  It 
is  not,  however,  the  first  time  I  have  been  at  the  cap- 
ital ;  I  presume  Julia  has  informed  you  of  my  coming 
to  these  parts,  some  time  since,  on  a  gloomy  errand." 

"She  has;  and  I  can  but  wish  every  soldier  who 
falls  had  a  sister  like  yourself." 

"  That,  surely,  is  not  a  bad  wish,"  remarked  Julia. 

"Provided  they  couldn't  have  better  ones,"  said 
Kate,  soberly. 

Frederic  acknowledged  himself  better  ;  he  trusted 
that  now  he  was  comforted  with  the  sight  of  two  such 
friends,  he  should  recover  rapidly. 

Julia  immediately  acquainted  her  mother-in-law  with 
the  fact  that  she  had  arrived  safely,  and  that  Kate  had 
received  her  letter,  and  hastened  to  meet  her  at  the 


82  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

depot  in  New  Jersey  ;  and  that  providentially  they  had 
met  just  in  time  to  take  the  Philadelphia  train  together. 
She  informed  the  anxious  mother  of  the  exact  condi- 
tion of  her  son,  and  also  expressed  her  desire  to  remain 
near  Frederic,  until  he  should  be  able  to  return  to  duty, 
saying,  "while  everything  goes  right  at  home,  I 
think  you  will  like  to  have  me  stay  by  my  husband 
until  he  is  able  to  take  the  field  again.  Should  any 
untoward  circumstance  occur,  please  inform  me  imme- 
diately." 

After  mailing  this  letter,  Julia  gave  herself  up  to 
the  duties  of  the  hour.  As  herself  and  friend  daily 
visited  the  hospital,  they  saw,  whichever  way  they 
turned  their  gaze,  motives  for  action  ;  and  many  a 
sufferer  was  cheered  by  their  tender  ministrations. 
One  day  when  they  were  passing  noiselessly  through 
one  of  the  wards,  they  heard  some  one  call,  "  Miss 
Sisson,  Miss  Sisson."  Kate  started  and  looked  about 
her,  to  ascertain  from  whence  the  voice  proceeded,  and 
was  directed  by  an  attendant  to  the  bedside  of  a 
young  man,  whom  she  instantly  recognized  as  the 
brother  of  Arthur  Bryant. 

"  Why,  Edwin,"  exclaimed  Kate,  in  surprise,  as 
she  took  the  hand  of  the  invalid  which  was  extended 
towards  her  ;  "I  didn't  know  you  was  here,  but  tell 
me  how  you  are,  and  what  I  can  do  for  you.  This 
lady/'  she  continued,  "  is  Mrs.  Sedgwick,"  looking 
at  Julia,  who  stood  just  behind  her  friend  ;  "it  will 
give  her  pleasure,  as  well  as  myself,  to  know  in  what 
way  we  can  add  most  to  your  comfort." 

"Yes,"  said  Julia;  "  I  do  want  to  cheer,  in  some 
way,  every  loyal  soldier." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  all  at  your  feeling  thus,"  replied 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  83 

the  sick  man  with  a  languid  smile,  "if  you  are  the 
wife  of  Captain  Sedgwick." 

"  You  know  my  husband,  then,"  remarked  Julia. 
"I  do  ;  and  I  have  reason  to  be  grateful  to  him 
also." 

Julia  turned  her  face  away  to  hide  the  gathering 
tears,  of  which  she  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed.  The 
thought  that  Frederic  was  not  changed  by  the  evil 
influences  he  had  been  obliged  to  encounter  since  he 
had  been  absent  from  his  home,  filled  her  heart  with 
emotions  of  gratitude,  that  for  the  moment  quite  over- 
came her,  She  controlled  her  joyous  feelings  at  once, 
as  she  gazed  upon  the  lovely  youth  before  her,  and 
saw,  as  it  were,  the  pallor  of  death  in  his  countenance. 
After  obtaining  permission  of  those  who  had  the  care 
of  the  sick,  the  ladies  administered  some  little  refresh- 
ing delicacies,  that  were  grateful  to  the  feverish  pa- 
tient. Julia  wet  his  head  with  cold  water,  and  combed 
his  hair  with  a  gentleness  that  brought  relief  to  his 
fevered  brow. 

Edwin  looked  up  with  a  grateful  expression  and 
whispered,  "  one  thing  more  I  must  ask,  and  that  is, 
to  have  the  Bible  read  by  one  of  you  ;  I  know  your 
voice  will  not  disturb  any  one." 

"  I  hope  not,  said  Kate,  as  she  took  a  pocket  Bible 
from  a  small  carpet-bag,  in  which  she  had  brought 
several  little  luxuries  for  the  sick  soldiers.  "I  have 
brought  a  Bible  with  me  ;  tell  me  what  you  wish 
read." 

"  0,  you  know  what  to  read,  something  for  my  soul 
to  rest  upon,  now." 

Kate  began,  repeating  the  first  verse  of  the  121st 
Psalm  :  "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from 


84  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

whence  cometh  my  help."  Edwin  smiled,  saying, 
"  please  go  on  ;  that  is  what  I  need  ;  "  and  Kate  con- 
tinued, "  my  help  cometh  from  the  Lord,  which  made 
heaven  and  earth." 

She  then  turned  to  the  23d  Psalm,  and  read  in  soft 
accents  the  fourth  verse  :  "  yea,  though  I  walk  through 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil, 
for  thou  art  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they 
comfort  me." 

"How  true  are  those  words  ;  I  feel  that  the  rod  that 
has  been  laid  upon  me  has  brought  comfort  to  my 
heart." 

Kate  turned  over  a  leaf  and  read,  "  The  Lord  is  my 
light  and  my  salvation  ;  whom  shall  I  fear  ?  the  Lord 
is  the  strength  of  my  life  ;  of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid  ?  " 
She  turned  to  the  New  Testament,  and  read  those 
words  of  solace,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  who  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Then, 
"  I  will  never  leave  nor  forsake  you."  Kate  here 
closed  her  book.  "  If  I  may,"  said  she,  "I  will  read 
more  to  you  another  time." 

"  It  must  be  soon,  or  never,"  answered  Edwin  ;  "I 
shall  soon  be  gone." 

"  As  neither  Kate  nor  Julia  spoke,  after  remaining 
silent  a  few  moments,  he  said,  "I  wish  you,  Miss 
Sisson,  would  take  my  dying  message  to  my  brother 
Arthur." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  said  Kate,  at  the  same  time  feeling 
it  would  be  a  hard  task  for  her  to  perform  ;  however, 
she  did  not  allow  her  reluctance  to  make  itself  mani- 
fest. 

"  I  wish  Arthur  to  be  told  that  I  die  feeling  that,  for 
worlds,  I  would  not  exchange  conditions  with  him      I 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  85 

am  satisfied  with  what  God  does  ;  in  my  own  case,  I 
am  more  than  satisfied.  I  am  happy  and  grateful. 
Brother  will  know  that  I  am  not  a  cripple  ;  life  would 
be  as  bright  for  me,  could  I  be  spared,  as  it  has  ever 
been,  and  yet  I  am  not  anxious  to  live.  I  feel  to  say, 
•  God's  will  be  done.'  Tell  Arthur  that  my  last  request 
to  him  is,  to  pause  and  reflect  upon  the  course  he  has 
marked  out  for  himself ;  tell  him,  that  quicksands  lie 
in  his  path,  which  will  swallow  him  up  ere  he  is  aware 
that  he  is  stepping  upon  them.  Oh,  I  want  to  say  to 
him,  in  thunder-tones,  it  will  profit  you  naught, 
Arthur,  to  gain  this  whole  world,  and  lose  your 
soul." 

Here  Edwin  paused,  closed  his  eyes,  and  lay  silent 
a  few  moments,  evidently  exhausted  with  the  effort  he 
had  made  to  speak.  Kate  had  carefully  taken  notes 
of  every  word,  that  she  might  copy  them,  verbatim, 
for  the  brother  for  whom  they  were  intended.  Julia 
sat  silently  by,  with  tearful  eyes,  fanning  the  sufferer, 
as  he  had  been  giving  this,  his  last  message,  to  an 
erring,  yet  dear  relative.  Kate  hastily  put  her  pencil 
and  memorandum  into  her  pocket,  and  after  a  little 
time  spent  in  looking  upon  the  frail  tenement  about  to 
be  deserted  by  the  deathless  spirit  it  now  contained, 
turned  from  the  bed,  with  deep  emotion,  and  after 
being  absent  a  few  moments,  returned  with  some 
refreshments  for  Edwin.  After  resting  a  little,  and 
taking  the  sustaining  cordial  offered  by  Kate,  he  seemed 
more  comfortable.  Julia  longed  to  ask  him  if  he  had 
ever  regretted  enlisting  in  the  service  of  his  country, 
and  she  was  glad  to  hear  the  question  asked  by  her 
friend,  and  delighted  with  the  reply  made  by  the  dying 
young  man. 

8 


86  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Regret  doing  so  ?  No,  indeed  ;  I  would  do  the 
same  were  I  to  be  again  in  the  same  circumstances. 
All  I  am  sorry  for  is,  that  I  have  done  no  more  in  my 
lifetime  to  make  the  land  of  my  birth  a  better  land 
than  it  is." 

"But  you  have  proved  yourself  to  be  a  true  and 
noble  patriot,"  said  Julia  and  Kate,  both  speaking  at 
the  same  instant. 

"In  a  comparative  sense,  perhaps ;  but,  oh,  the 
light  which  a  near  view  of  eternity  sheds  upon  the 
realities  of  time,  showing  the  relations  of  the  latter  to 
that  state  that  shall  never  end.  None  need  fear  doing 
too  much  to  spread  the  light  of  truth  in  the  earth,  and 
by  that  means  uproot  error. 

"  Had  we  been  thoroughly  a  Christian  nation,  we 
had  not  known  this  civil  war.  May  all  be  faithful  to 
God  and  to  their  country.  God  grant  that  this  may 
be  true  of  all  dear  to  me." 

Although  the  young  man  had  spoken  only  at  inter- 
vals, and  in  a  faint  voice,  he  would  speak.  His  heart 
seemed  overflowing  with  love  to  all,  and  a  desire  that 
all  should  tread  the  path  that  leads  to  life.  His  love 
for  his  country,  also,  was  great.  On  hearing  Julia 
ask  her  friend,  if  Edwin  had  a  mother,  he  opened  his 
eyes  languidly,  and  pointed  with  his  finger  to  heaven. 

"  Your  mother  is,  then,  in  a  better  world  than  this," 
remarked  Julia,  understanding  the  motion  of  the 
invalid  as  intended  for  an  answer  to  the  question  she 
had  asked  Kate. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "God  has  answered  her  prayers 
in  behalf  of  one  of  her  sons  already,  and  he  will  do 
so,  in  his  own  time  and  way,  in  the  case  of  Arthur. 
Pray  for  him,"  said  he,  looking  beseechingly  at  Kate 
as  he  spoke. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  87 

The  young  lady  nodded  her  head  in  token  of  assent, 
for  her  emotions  prevented  her  speaking.  Gladly 
would  she  have  lingered  by  the  bed  of  the  dying 
Christian  had  it  been  so  that  she  could.  But  she  saw 
him  sink  into  a  doze  ere  she  followed  her  friend  from 
the  spot  where  her  heart  had  been  not  only  wrung 
with  agony,  but  made  joyous,  too,  by  an  exhibition  of 
the  power  of  the  gospel  of  Christ  to  gild  with  ineffable 
brightness  the  darkest  pictures  of  life,  and  even  the 
confines  of  the  tomb. 

This  was  the  only  opportunity  our  friends  ever  en- 
joyed of  conversing  with  Edwin.  He  lived  until  the 
next  day,  and  although  he  was  conscious,  and  gave 
the  ladies  a  smile  of  recognition  as  they  stood  by  his 
bedside,  the  last  time  he  ever  opened  his  eyes  upon 
the  world,  he  was  too  feeble  to  speak,  and  they  saw 
him  sink  to  rest  in  death  as  a  child  falls  gently  asleep 
upon  the  breast  of  its  mother.  "So  he  giveth  his 
beloved  sleep,"  said  Kate,  as  they  left  the  precious 
remains  of  the  departed  to  the  care  of  those  who  had 
been  commissioned  by  Arthur  Bryant  to  take  care  of 
them. 

As  Captain  Sedgwick  recovered  strength  sufficient 
to  enable  him  to  repair  to  his  own  quarters,  he  did  so, 
and  his  wife  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  cheering  him  by 
her  society  and  kind  attentions,  until  his  health  was 
entirely  restored. 

Kate  remained  with  her  friend  at  the  capital,  where 
they  devoted  most  of  their  time  to  doing  what  they 
could  for  the  comfort  of  the  sick  and  wounded  soldiers. 
Their  ministrations  were  not  confined  to  Union  men, 
although  these  received  attention,  first ;  but  many  a 


88  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Rebel  prisoner  was  cheered  and  made  more  comforta- 
ble by  their  kindness. 

Frederic  was  well  able  to  do  without  nursing  ere 
his  wife  thought  of  leaving  him.  He  was  made  as- 
sistant Adjutant-General  and  a  staff  officer  of  General 
H,  —  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  many  friends, 
a  day  or  two  before  his  wife  and  Kate  bade  him 
adieu,  to  return  home. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  89 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  You  are  a  kind-hearted  and  an  honorablo  youth." 

"Mother,  I  have  just  received  a  long  letter  from 
Raymond."  This  was  said  by  Bessie  Jenkins,  as 
she  entered  her  mother's  room  one  morning,  a  few- 
months  after  the  departure  of  the  young  man  spoken 
of. 

"lam  glad,  daughter,  and  hope  you  will  hasten  to 
read  it,  so  as  to  communicate  its  contents  to  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  I  have  read  it,  mother,  and  I'm  anxious  to  have 
you  explain  some  things  referred  to  by  Raymond." 

Bessie  then  read  the  letter  aloud  ;  she  was  interrupted 
more  than  once,  however,  by  her  mother,  who  was  sur- 
prised as  well  as  delighted  by  what  she  heard. 

"  Now  do  please  tell  me,  mother,  if  you  have  a  sis- 
ter living  at  the  South.  I've  never  heard  you  speak 
of  any  such  relative,  I'm  sure." 

"  '  Tis  true,  Bessie,  that  I  have  a  sister  in  Virginia, 
though  she  has  been  estranged  from  me  for  many 
years.  I  have  written  to  her  once  or  twice  since  your 
remembrance,  yet,  as  I  received  no  answer  to  my  mis- 
sives, I  could  not  bear  to  speak  of  the  fact  that  I  had 
such  a  relative,  one  who  felt  too  proud  to  acknowl- 
edge me,  and  I  have  labored  to  forget  her." 

"  I  don't  care  to  see  her,  if  she  is  such  an  unkind 
sister  to  you,  mother,  and  I  hope  I  never  shall." 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  child  ;  if  your  aunt  comes  to 
8* 


90  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

this  part  of  the  country  I  shall  seek  her,  and  I  hope 
the  discipline  she  has  endured  has  changed  her  idea 
of  things,  so  that  she  will  not  look  with  contempt 
upon  her  less  fashionable  sister." 

"  But  only  think,  how  strange  that  Raymond  should 
have  met  with  her,  and  found  out  that  she  was  a  rela- 
tive of  ours,"  said  Bessie,  musingly. 

"  It  was  a  kind  Providence  ordered  this  event,  as 
Mrs.  Sedgwick  would  say,"  answered  the  mother. 

It  appeared,  as  Raymond  stated  in  his  letter,  that 
Mrs.  Murray  was  not  at  all  in  sympathy  with  her  hus- 
band, who  was  a  secessionist.  He  had  left  his  home, 
not  quite  twenty  miles  from  Alexandria,  to  join  the 
Rebel  army  soon  after  the  commencement  of  hostilities. 
Mrs.  Murray  was  suspected,  by  some,  of  indulging 
Union  sentiments,  but  she  was  very  non-committal, 
and  none,  save  her  husband,  knew  that  she  was  loyal. 
She  had  two  children,  a  daughter  and  son.  Very 
glad  did  the  lady  feel  at  this  crisis  in  our  country's 
history,  that  her  son  was  too  young  to  bear  arms. 
He  was  only  thirteen  at  the  beginning  of  our  woes. 

Her  daughter  Clara  was  then  sixteen  ;  but  we  must 
tell  the  story  of  Mrs.  Murray.  The  father  of  her 
children  had  so  constantly  been  occupied  with  public 
affairs,  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  leave  the  manage- 
ment of  his  children  almost  entirely  to  their  mother. 
He  often  cautioned  her  against  instilling  into  their 
young  minds  her  plebeian  puritanical  notion  of  things, 
and  did  what  in  him  lay,  whenever  he  had  opportunity 
to  be  with  them,  to  elevate  their  ideas  to  his  standard, 
as  he  expressed  himself;  we  should  say,  lower  them. 

Mr.  Murray  loved  his  family  as  well  as  a  proud, 
ambitious  man  was  capable  of  loving.     His  wife  and 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  91 

children  gratified  his  vanity  and  his  pride,  else  he  had 
not  cared  for  them  at  all.  He  was  scarcely  if  ever  at 
home  during  three  successive  days,  now  that  his  soul 
was  tired  with  the  unholy  ambition  of  political  and 
military  renown.  He  lent  the  weight  of  his  purse  and 
the  strength  of  his  right  arm  to  destroy  the  glorious 
institutions  of  our  land. 

"  Why  try  to  overthrow  the  Government  ?  "  Mrs. 
Murray  ventured  to  ask  timidly  on  one  occasion,  but 
was  silenced  by  the  violent  anger  of  her  erring  hus- 
band. She  said  no  more,  but  she  read,  and  "  thoughts 
she  could  not  bridle  forced  their  way  without  the 
Will."  Could  her  sister  have  seen  her  as  in  memory 
she  lived  over  the  days  of  her  childhood  and  youth, 
as  she  thought  of  the  first  time  she  ever  met  Mr.  Mur- 
ray, and  of  her  mother's  gentle  caution,  whispered  in 
her  ear,  "  All  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  my  dear,"  she 
would  have  pitied  her.  She  had  found  this  aphorism 
true  to  her  sorrow,  since  then,  but  at  that  time  ;  "0, 
foolish  girl  that  I  was,"  thought  the  wife  of  the  great 
man,  in  her  isolation  from  all  that  was  dear  to  her  ex- 
cept her  children,  "  to  listen  and  turn  from  all  my 
friends  to  please  him."  As  she  thought  of  her  loving 
mother,  whose  heart  had  been  wellnigh  broken  by  her 
desertion  and  neglect,  she  wept  long  and  bitterly. 
She  thought  of  her  sister  ;  she  loved  her  ;  she  had  al- 
ways loved  her  ;  how  could  she  have  allowed  herself 
to  be  influenced  as  she  had  been  to  neglect  them  so 
cruelly. 

The  more  she  reflected,  the  more  wretched  she 
became.  The  motives  by  which  her  husband  was 
governed,  and  by  which  the  had  governed  her,  were 
plain  to  her  now.     It  was  pride  and  love  of  power 


92  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

that  had  made  him  anxious  to  estrange  her  from  her 
relatives,  and  it  was  these  ignoble  traits  in  his  char- 
acter that  made  him  anxious  now  to  destroy  the 
glorious  institutions  of  the  United  States.  She  shud- 
dered as  she  thought  of  the  future,  so  helpless  and 
hopeless  appeared  her  condition.  She  thought  of  her 
children  with  trembling.  "  "Would  I  were  in  my  child- 
hood's home,"  mused  she  half  aloud ;  she  started  at 
the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  and  more,  as  she  felt  a 
gentle  touch  upon  her  arm,  and  looked  up  to  see  her 
daughter  standing  close  by  her  side. 

"Mother,"  said  Clara,  "you  said  something  about 
your  childhood's  home  ;  where  is  it  ?  I  never  knew 
anything  about  your  relatives  ;  have  you  any  ?  " 

"Your  father,  my  child,  never  wished  me  to  speak 
of  my  former  friends,  and  that  is  the  reason  you  have 
not  heard  about  them  ?  " 

"  Were  n't  they  respectable  people,  mother  ?  "  asked 
the  daughter,  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  they  were  ;  my  mother  was  a  good 
Christian." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  them,  then  ?  " 

"They  were  not  wealthy;  you  know  your  father 
thinks  a  great  deal  of  riches." 

"Do  you  love  your  mother;* mamma ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  love  her,  though,  for  your  father's  sake, 
I  have  never  corresponded  with  her  or  my  sister.  I 
attempted  to  write  to  them  when  I  was  first  married  and 
came  here,  but  my  doing  so  displeased  your  father, 
and  I  gave  up  the  pleasure." 

Clara  had  seated  herself  on  a  stool  by  her  mother's 
feet  as  she  was  conversing,  and  as  her  mother  ceased 
speaking  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  laid 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  93 

her  head  upon  her  lap.  She  sat  in  this  posture  some 
time,  while  there  was  a  silence  which  was  absolutely 
painful  to  Mrs.  Murray. 

••  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Clara?  "  at  length 
inquired  the  mother. 

"  I  was  wondering,  if  I  should  ever  have  a  husband 
who  would  require  me  to  forsake  you,  whether  or  not 
I  should  obey  him.  But  I  don't  believe  I  should  ;  I 
could  n't  and  I  would  n't.  It  is  not  right  for  you  to  do 
so,  mother.  You  never  ought  to  have  submitted  to 
such  a  requirement.  I  know  it  was  wrong  ;  you  are 
too  easy,  that's  the  trouble.'' 

"I  have  been  wrong,  my  child;  I  see  it  now,  al- 
though during  the  first  years  of  my  married  life,  I  felt 
that  I  owed  all  duty  to  my  husband." 

11 1  love  my  father,"  said  Clara,  "because  he  is  my 
father,  and  so  does  brother  Edgar ;  but,  mother,  we 
don't  think  the  South  are  doing  right  in  taking  up 
arms  against  the  Government.  We  have  talked  a 
great  deal  about  the  state  of  affairs,  and  wondered 
what  you  thought  about  the  wicked  acts  that  the 
'Confederacy/  as  this  make-believe  government  is 
called,  have  committed.  We  dare  not  say  a  word  in 
hearing  of  even  our  own  people,  and  yet,  mother,  I 
know  that  some  of  the  servants  are  longing  for  the 
Union  troops  to  come,  and  I  don't  blame  them ;  do 
you,  mother?  " 

"I  dare  not  say  that  I  do,  Clara;  I  wish  I  was  at 
the  North,  with  my  friends,  now." 

"  Where  at  the  North  did  your  friends  live,  mother, 
when  you  last  heard  from  them  ?  " 

"In  the  good  old  State  of  Massachusetts;  that 
name  which  has  ever  been  dear  to  me.     The  town  of 


94  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

Newdale  was  my  birthplace  ;  it  is  a  small  place,  but 
its  water  privileges  give  it  a  high  position  among  the 
adjoining  places." 

"  Mother,  I  mean  to  ask  father  to  let  its  go  North." 

' '  My  child,  the  idea  is  perfectly  insane  ;  you  do  not 
know  your  father's  feelings  in  regard  to  the  North,  or 
you  would  not  think  of  such  a  thing." 

'•'Mother,  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  of  what 
Hannah  says  ;  she  will  have  it  that  the  Lord  is  able  to 
do  anything  he  pleases  to  accomplish.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  believe  what  she  haft-so  many  times  told  me  ; 
and  more  than  that,  I  6V)  feel  that  God  is  answering 
the  prayers  of  our  people.  I'fcave  often  heard  them 
pray  in  their  cabins,  when  they  didn't  know  I  was 
hearing  them,  and  I  have  often  felt  that  God  must  be 
better  pleased  with  them  than  with  us.  Hannah  has 
always  been  a  good  Christian  friend  to  me,  and  I  love 
her  dearly." 

Mrs.  Murray  seemed  awe-stricken  ;***  where  did  3'ou 
pick  up  these  notions,  Clara?  " 

"  I  got  them  out  of  the  Bible,  which  I  have  read  to 
Hannah,  and  some  of  the  rest  of  our  people,  and  I 
think  God  has  heard  the  prayers  that  these  poor  igno- 
rant souls  have  put  up  for  me  ;  for  He  has  taught  me 
to  love  my  Saviour,  and  love  to  pray  to  Him.  I  feel, 
too,  that  God  will  hear  their  prayers  for  you,  dear 

mother,  and  then  you  will  not  be  so  afraid ;  " 

she  paused,  fearing  to  pronounce  the  words  her  lips 
had  framed. 

"  Afraid  of  what,  my  daughter  ?  Don't  hesitate  to 
tell  me  what  you  feel." 

"  Well,  then  ;  I  was  going  to  say,  afraid  to  do 
right  for  yourself." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  95 

11  My  dear  child,"  was  all  that  Mrs.  Murray  could 
say.  She  was  silent  for  some  time,  and  her  heart  was 
full,  wellnigh  to  bursting.  At  length  Clara  asked  her 
mother  if  she  thought  she  had  been  feeling  wrong 
about  the  things  she  had  spoken  of. 

"  No,  no,  my  child  ;  I  do  not  like  our  situation.  I 
do  not  sympathize  with  these  Rebel  movements  ;  but 
what  am  I  to  do  ?  alas  !  I  know  not." 

"Mother,  let  us  ask  God  to  appear  for  us;  He 
stopped  the  mouths  of  lions,  in  Bible  times,  and  he 
may  help  us.     He  is  able,  and  we  can  pray  to  Him." 

The  heart  of  this  mother  was  filled  to  overflowing 
with  gladness,  to  find  that  her  daughter  sympathized 
with  her  in  her  trials.  She  had  for  years  felt  so  lone- 
ly, she  had  often  thought  her  burden  was  too  heavy  to 
be  borne,  ere  the  Rebellion  broke  out ;  but  this  dis- 
astrous event  had  added  bitter  drops  to  her  portion. 
A  fearful  anticipation  of  evil  oppressed  her  spirit. 
She  thought  now  of  her  friends  in  the  loyal  North, 
and  longed  for  their  sympathy. 

"  Would  I  could  write  to  my  mother  and  ask  her 
forgiveness,"  thought  she,  "  for  my  wicked  neglect 
and  desertion  ;  but  I  cannot  know  that  a  letter  would 
reach  her.     I  am  wretched,  and  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

We  hardly  need  say  that  Mrs.  Murray  was  not  an 
energetic  woman  ;  her  mind  was  not  strong,  else  she 
would  never  have  been  so  completely  governed  by 
the  absolute  will  of  her  husband,  as  to  submit  to  his 
authority  in  becoming  estranged  from  her  '  plebeian 
friends,'  as  he  termed  her  relatives.  In  her  girlhood, 
she  had  been  dazzled  by  a  view  of  his  elevated  posi- 
tion in  society.  He  loved  her  ;  she  felt  that  he  did, 
and  was  easily  led  by  his  sophistry,  to  believe  that  at 


96  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

marriage  her  obligations  to  others  ceased  ;  that  it  was 
her  duty  henceforth,  to  yield  to  him  her  every  wish, 
and  that,  cheerfully.  For  a  short  period  subsequent 
to  the  union  of  Mr.  Murray  and  his  wife,  the  life  that 
they  led  was  so  dissipated,  that  the  latter  had  little 
time  to  think  of  anything  but  preparations  for  the 
constantly  occurring  scenes  of  gayety  in  which  she 
mingled.  Her  vanity  wasv  gratified  by  hearing  the 
praises  her  beauty  called  forth  continually,  and  she 
lived  in  a  whirl  of  excitement  from-  day  to  day.  Yet 
there  had  come  seasons  when  her  heart  had  longed 
for  her  mother  and  elder  sister. 

At  the  birth  of  Clara,  she  would  have  given  much 
to  see  her  mother ;  she  ventured  then  to  breathe  a 
wish  to  her  husband,  that  she  might  write  and  inform 
her  of  the  advent  of  her  babe  ;  adding,  "  mother  ought 
to  know  it,  I  think.' '     " 

"  I  thought  all  that  nonsense  was  settled  long  ago, 
and  that  you  were  contented  in  the  sphere  to  which  I 
have  elevated  you.  You  are  to  leave  everything  for 
me,  your  husband ;  and  our  child  is  never  to  be  told 
of  the  low  family  to  which  her  mother  belonged." 

The  young  mother  felt  hurt  at  this  unfeeling  re- 
sponse of  her  liege  lord  ;  but  she  had  so  long  yielded 
to  his  overbearing  will,  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt 
resistance  at  this  period  in  their  married  life.  So  the 
years  passed  on,  and  Mrs.  Murray  endured  life  for 
the  most  part  cheerfully.  Her  children  were  a  solace 
to  her  as  she  grew  older  ;  she  was  left  more  at  home 
by  her  husband,  than  in  her  youthful  days ;  her 
beauty  had  faded  somewhat,  and  she  felt  that  he  who 
had  once  been  so  proud  to  have  her  with  him  in  all 
public  places,  was  less  desirous  of  her  company.     She 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  97 

was  not  grieved  at  this,  farther  than  it  gave  her  rea- 
son to  fear  that  he  had  been  attracted  towards  her 
by  her  loveliness  of  personal  appearance  alone.  She 
loved  her  children. 

Mrs.  Murray  had  faithful  servants,  and  until  the 
excitement  caused  by  the  nomination  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  to  the  Presidential  chair,  her  life  had  been 
comparatively  comfortable.  A  sting  of  conscience, 
now  and  then,  felt  in  a  moment  when  she  could  not 
silence  its  assertions  that  she  ought  to  do  right,  that 
she  was  accountable  to  a  higher  power  than  that  of 
her  husband. 

During  the  Presidential  campaign  of  1860,  Mrs. 
Murray,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  read  many  of 
the  various  newspapers  of  the  day,  and  her  prefer- 
ences were  all  in  favor  of  the  Republican  candidate. 
As  the  time  drew  near  for  the  great  question  to  be 
decided,  her  heart  fluttered  between  fear  and  hope  ; 
and  when  it  was  known  that  the  people's  candidate 
was  duly  elected,  she  could  not  be  glad,  for  she  had 
heard  too  much  said  in  her  own  home,  during  the 
short  visits  of  her  children's  father  thither,  to  leave 
her  room  for  doubt  as  to  the  course  the  Southrons 
would  pursue,  if  they  could  no  longer  control  affairs 
at  the  head  of  the  Nation,  as  they  had  done  for  a 
long  period  in  the  past. 

Mrs.  Murray  heard  of  the  secession  of  South  Caro- 
lina with  dismay.  She  learned,  too,  that  Mr.  Murray 
was  a  leading  man  in  that  bogus  government.  He 
was  scarcely  at  home  during  the  winter  of  1860-61, 
he  had  so  much  public  business  to  attend  to.  On  one 
account  Mrs.  Murray  was  glad  this  was  so,  for  she 
was  saved  the  pain  of  having  her  children  listen  to 
9 


98 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


execrations  that  were  constantly  heaped  upon  the 
North,  by  the  very  men  whom  the  mild  Government 
of  our  once  happy  land  had  made  prosperous,  and  Who 
had  been  made  arrogant  by  the  obsequiousness  of  the 
people  of  the  Free  States,  who  had  for  years  humored 
them  to  keep  them  quiet. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  99 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  Groat,  noble  heart." 

Clara  now  proved  a  solace  and  support  to  her  imbe- 
cile, hesitating  mother.  That  young  lady  inherited 
enough  of  her  father's  spirit,  blended  with  some  of  the 
gentler  traits  of  her  mother's  character,  to  make  her 
truly  energetic  and  noble.  As  good  old  Hannah  had 
it,  "  she  han't  a  bit  of  her  father's  ugly,  as  I  see,  nor 
her  mother's  foolish,  scarry  feeling ;  she  is  n't  afraid 
of  nothin'  in  the  world." 

"  She  likes  the  Yankees,  you'd  better  believe,"  said 
Sam,  a  house  servant,  to  Hannah,  one  day,  just  before 
the  Federals  advanced  to  capture  Warrenton  ;  "  I  seed 
her  walking  with  a  young  man  who  belongs  to  that 
State  Massa  hates  so  bad.  I  wonder  what  he  'd  say 
or  do  if  he  only  knowed  it." 

"  I  guess  he  won't  know  it  from  me  or  you,  will  he, 
Sam?" 

"  No  ;  sure  's  my  name  's  Sam,  I  won't  let  him  be 
told  on  't  if  I  can  help  it." 

"But,  Sam,  how  come  you  to  know  that  this  young 
man  come  from  de  State  of  Masschusetts  ?  dat  's  de 
place  Massa  swears  'bout  so  much,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Masschusetts  the  place,  and  I  b'lieve  young 
Missus  got  frightened  at  a  runaway  horse,  or  su'thin' 
like  it,  and  dis  young  Yankee  offered  hisself  to  see  her 
home." 

"Maybe  you  don't  know  all,"  said  Hannah,  with 


100  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

an  air  of  mystery  that  puzzled  Sam ;  and  Sam  did  not 
know  all,  for  even  Clara's  mother  did  not  even  imag- 
ine the  intense  interest  her  daughter  felt  in  knowing 
something  more  of  her  mother's  relatives. 

Clara  knew  that  troops  from  Massachusetts  had 
been  quartered  near  them  ;  that  is,  within  a  few  miles 
of  their  home.  "  How  I  wish,"  said  she,  mentally, 
"that  brother  was  the  daughter,  instead  of  myself, 
and  yet,"  checking  herself,  "  that  is  n't  right.  I  don't 
feel  as  I  ought ;  Hannah  would  say,  '  go  to  God  and 
ask  for  what  you  want.'  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  that 
He  hears  when  I  pray,  always.  I  think  He  has  some- 
times answered  me  ;  but  then,  as  Hannah  says,  it  may 
not  be  right  for  me  to  have  what  I  ask  for,  so  I  must 
trust.  I  will  pray  that  a  way  may  be  opened  for 
mother  to  hear  from  her  friends  ;  surely  it  will  be  right 
for  me  to  make  this  request,"  said  she,  aloud. 

"  It  is  right  to  ask  the  bressed  Saviour  for  anything; 
Miss  Clara,  if  ye  're  only  willing  He  should  n't  think 
fit  to  give  ye  jest  what  ye  ask  for." 

Clara  started,  for  she  had  thought  herself  alone, 
until  she  heard  the  voice  of  the  good  old  servant. 
"  Dear  chile,"  said  the  faithful  creature,  "  don't  never 
forget  to  pray  ;  if  anything  troubles  ye,  go  ter  yer 
Saviour  with  it." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  resolved  to  do,  Hannah.  I  have 
lately  been  led  to  believe  that  my  mother  has  friends 
now  living  in  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  and  do  so 
want  her  to  hear  from  them,  and  I  want,  too,  to  know 
them  myself,  that  I  don't  think  it  can  be  wrong  for 
me  to  pray  that  a  way  be  opened  for  us  to  get  word 
to  them." 

"Wrong?   no,  indeed,   honey;  it  is  right,  and  the 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  101 

dear  Lord  put  that  thought  inter  yer  young  heart,  I 
do  b'lieye." 

Thus  encouraged,  Clara  went  to  that  God  who  seeth 
in  secret,  and  in  childlike  simplicity  and  faith,  laid  her 
trials  before  Him.  "  If  it  will  be  for  thy  glory,"  she 
prayed,  "  restore  my  dear  mother  to  the  love  and  sym- 
pathy of  her  mother.  Will  it  not  be  right,  0  Lord,  for 
my  father  to  let  her  write  to  her  friends  ?  Lord,  do 
thou  open  a  way  for  this  to.  take  place." 

Never  was  a  more  sincere  petition  offered  to  the 
sovereign  Father  than  this.  Mrs.  Murray's  heart  was 
oppressed  with  strong  and  conflicting  emotions. 
Sometimes  she  was  tempted  to  send  a  letter  through 
the  Federal  lines,  to  her  long-deserted  friends  ;  she 
half  resolved  to  do  so,  and  then  came  the  painful 
thought  that  they  might  be  dead,  or,  if  living,  refuse 
to  answer  her ;  and  then,  if  her  husband  should  know 
of  her  having  set  at  naught  his  authority  in  this,  she 
feared  her  life  would  be  made  intolerable  ;  he  had 
nany  times  told  her  that  if  she  should  ever  seriously 
offend  him,  he  would  never  forgive  her.  He  might 
deprive  her  of  the  society  of  her  children,  to  gratify 
his  resentment,  and  then  her  life  would  become  a  living 
death. 

She  was  full  of  apprehension,  continually,  lest  she 
should  be  required  to  take  some  stand  in  regard  to  her 
sentiments.  Every  day  brought  changes  to  many, 
within  a  few  miles  of  her  ;  how  could  she  feel  secure  ? 
The  Rebel  flag  had  floated  over  her  house,  and  that  had 
protected  her,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing, 
from  Rebel  violence,  for  a  time,  yet  it  did  not  ever ; 
in  her  inmost  soul  she  detested  the  sight  of  the  foul 


102  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

thing,  and  would  have  raised  the  u  stars  and  stripes," 
had  she  not  feared  the  anger  of  her  husband. 

"  Was  ever  woman  more  troubled,"  inquired  she, 
mentally,  "than  I,  at  this  moment  ?  "  at  the  instant  a 
text  from  which  she  had  heard  a  sermon  preached  in 
her  girlhood,  came  into  her  mind,  causing  her  acute 
pain  for  the  time. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured  sadly,  "it  is  true,  '  the  way 
of  transgressors  is  hard,'-  how  hard  I  never  could 
have  imagined.  Were  it  not  for  my  children,  I  should 
be  tempted  to  wish  I  had  never  been  born." 

As  Mrs.  Murray  sat  in  her  chamber  one  day,  indulg- 
ing in  such  sad,  unavailing  regrets,  she  was  startled 
from  her  morbid  reverie  by  receiving  news  of  the  fall 
of  her  husband.  He  had  fallen,  it  was  reported,  in 
one  of  those  seven  days'  engagements  in  the  vicinity 
of  Winchester  and  Warrenton.  Clara  had  brought  a 
paper  containing  a  notice  of  the  death  of  Colonel  Mur- 
ray, but  there  were  no  particulars  given,  and  the 
daughter  was  inclined  to  doubt  the  correctness  of  the 
statement.  She  wished  to  go  out  and  learn  if  possible 
something  in  regard  to  the  truth  or  falsity  of  the  re-, 
port,  and  it  was  while  abroad  on  this  errand,  that  she 
was  knocked  down  by  a  runaway  horse,  and  taken  up 
and  cared  for  by  a  Union  soldier,  with  whom  Sam  had 
subsequently  seen  her  walking. 

Clara's  prolonged  absence  had  given  her  mother  un- 
easiness, and  she  was  anxiously  watching  for  her  re- 
turn," from  a  window,  when  she  was  surprised  to  see 
her  approaching  the  house  slowly,  leaning  upon  the 
arm  of  a  gentleman  dressed  in  the  United  States  uni- 
form. Unable  to  command  her  feelings  of  interest  and 
curiosity,  she  hastened  to  the  hall,  and  as  the  door 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  103 

was  opened  by  a  waiter,  stepped  forward  to  ask  if 
anything  had  happened  to  Clara. 

"Nothing  serious,  madam,"  replied  the  young  man, 
who  was  none  other  than  Raymond  Philips  ;  "  she 
has  been  knocked  down  and  sadly  frightened,  but  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  she  is  nearly  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  both."  - 

"  0,  mother/7  exclaimed  Clara,  forgetting  in  her 
zeal,  that  she  was  transgressing  the  rules  of  propriety 
in  neglecting  to  invite  her  protector  into  the  house  ; 
"  this  gentleman  is  from  Massachusetts,  and  he  is 
acquainted  with  a  lady  whose  name  is  Jenkins,  who 
lives  in  Oak  Dale  ;  maybe  she  is  your  sister." 

Mrs.  Murray  cordially  invited  Raymond  to  enter, 
saying,  "  I  should  love  to  converse  with  you  about 
the  old  Bay  State." 

He  politely  declined  her  invitation,  however,  in- 
forming her  that  his  duties  forbade  him  the  pleasure, 
then,  but  he  would  be  glad  at  some  future  time  to  give 
her  any  information  in  regard  to  Massachusetts  which 
she  might  desire.  Then,  bowing  politely,  he  began  to 
descend  the  steps. 

"  Stop  one  moment,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Murray,  "  you 
must  give  me  an  opportunity  to  express  my  gratitude 
to  you  for  your  kindness  to  my  daughter  ;  I  am  sure,  I 
thank  you  most  sincerely." 

"  I  should  have  been  less  than  a  man  had  I  done 
otherwise,  under  the  circumstances,  madam  ;  I  do  not 
merit  thanks." 

"I  think  otherwise,"  and  then  she  returned  his 
good  by,  reluctantly,  as  he  walked  away  at  a  rapid 
pace  towards  the  Union  camp 


104  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  This  above  all  —to  thine  own  life  be  true, 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

Clara  had  not  been  able  to  get  any  information  in 
regard  to  her  father  ;  the  fact  was,  that  meeting  with 
the  accident,  and  so  soon  afterwards  with  the  soldier 
from  the  very  State  her  mother  so  wished  to  hear 
from,  had,  for  the  time  being,  caused  her  to  forget  an 
item  of  news  she  did  not  believe.  On  being  asked  by 
her  mother,  she  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  had 
been  guilty  of  forgetting  her  father,  in  her  anxiety  for 
her  to  have,  if  possible,  some  communication  once  more 
with  her  friends. 

"  Why,  mother,  I  don't  believe  father  is  dead  ;  we 
certainly  should  have  been  informed  of  the  event  in  a 
different  way,  if  he  had  been  killed  in  battle." 

"  We  ought  to  hear  from  him  if  he  is  living,  for  a 
letter  has  been  due  some  days  already  ;  you  know  we 
have  looked  some  time  for  an  answer  to  our  last." 

"  I  know  that,  but  something  may  have  happened 
to  prevent  his  writing." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Clara,.  "  that  he  is  a  prisoner." 

News  from  the  father  and  husband  came  that  very 
hour,  that  was  thought  reliable  ;  he  had  been  captured, 
and  was  a  paroled  prisoner  at  Washington. 

"  This  is  good  news  compared  with  the  other,  is  n't 
it,  mother?"  said  Clara. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  105 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  I  don't  believe  your  father  will 
suffer  anything  as  a  prisoner,  more  than  the  mortili ca- 
tion of  temporary  defeat,  and  that  cannot  be  much." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  just  nothing  at  all ;  and  I  am 
not  sorry  that  he  is  sure  to  be  away  for  a  little  time, 
because  I  do  so  want  to  learn  something  more  from 
that  young  man  about  your  sister.  He  told  me  that  he 
wrote  home  often,  and  would  make  inquiries  of  some 
of  Mrs.  Jenkins's  family,  respecting  her  relatives." 

"  I  don't  suppose  the  man  will  ever  give  you,  or  the 
subject  that  interests  you  so  deeply,  another  thought. 
I  would  cease  to  think  about  those  things,  daughter, 
if  I  was  you  ;  it  only  troubles  you,  and  it  makes  you 
grow  old  too  fast,  to  worry  so  much." 

"  Don't  you  care  to  know  if  this  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
spoken  of,  is  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  care  a  great  deal ;  but  there  is  so  little 
probability  of  my  ever  knowing  anything  satisfactory 
about  my  friends,  that  I  try  to  forget  my  own  situa- 
tion.'-' 

"  But,  mother,  are  you  content  to  sit  down  and  see 
the  Government  you  love  overthrown,  without  saying 
that  you  do  not  sympathize  with  traitors,  even  ?  " 

"  No,  Clara,  I  am  not  happy  ;  but  I  don't  know  what 
to  do." 

This  conversation  was  held  one  afternoon,  in  the 
chamber  of  the  mother ;  the  daughter  could  not  sit 
down  quietly,  so  she  paced  the  floor  with  an  uneasy 
tread,  the  while. 

"I  cannot  set  myself  about  anything,  mother;  I 
never  was  so  restless  in  my  life.  I  am  lonesome,  too  ; 
I  don't  see  anybody,  hardly,  but  those  who  talk  so 
fiercely  about  Southern  independence,  that  they  pro- 


106  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

voke  and  disgust  me,  and  I  feel  shut  out  from  every 
good  we  might  have." 

"Don't  be  ungrateful, "  said  Mrs.  Murray,  "but 
look  at  some  who  have  suffered  for  opinion's  sake, 
while  you  are  not  disturbed,  although  there  is  as  much 
reason  you  should  be,  as  some  who  have  been  mar- 
tyred for  their  loyalty." 

"  One  may  as  well  be  turned  out  of  house  and 
home,  as  live  as  we  do." 

Just  then  there  was  a  ring  at  the  hall  door.  "I 
hope  that  is  something  or  somebody  to  bring  some 
change,"  said  Clara. 

A  few  moments  later  a  servant  came  into  the  room, 
and  told  Mrs.  Murray  that  a  young  Yankee  officer  was 
in  the  parlor,  and  wished  to  see  herself  and  daughter. 
Clara  clapped  her  hands  in  delight.  "  It  must  be  that 
same  young  man." 

"  It  is,  Miss  Clara,"  said  the  servant. 

The  young  lady  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  has- 
tened to  descend  the  stairs.  She  bethought  herself, 
however,  ere  she  reached  the  bottom,  and  waited  for 
her  mother  to  lead  the  way  into  the  parlor.  The  young 
lieutenant  arose  with  a  graceful  bow,  at  their  entrance, 
and  both  Mrs.  Murray  and  Clara  recognized  him  as 
the  companion  of  Clara's  walk  homewards,  on  the  day 
of  the  accident. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  your  friends  ?  "  asked  Clara, 
impatiently. 

"  I  have,  and  have  had  an  answer  to  a  letter  in  which 
I  made  the  inquiries  I  promised  to." 

"Oh,"  said  Clara ;  but  checking  herself,  she  quietly 
asked,  "  is  the  Mrs.  Jenkins,  with  whom  you  are 
acquainted,  my  mother's  sister?  " 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  107 

"  She  is,  and  I  have  a  letter  which  she  enclosed  in 
a  packet  to  myself.  Here  it  is,"  said  Raymond,  at 
the  Bame  time  taking  from  his  pocket  a  missive,  and 
handing  it  to  Mrs.  Murray.  The  stay  of  the  young 
officer  was  brief,  but  Clara  told  him,  ere  he  left,  that 
she  wished  the  "  stars  and  stripes  "  had  been  placed 
over  their  heads,  as  it  would  represent  their  feelings. 
"  I'm  not  secesh,"  said  she,  and  I  want  to  go  some- 
where, where  I  can  speak  as  I  think.  You  '11  hear  of 
us  at  the  North,  sometime,  I  am  certain." 

Mrs.  Murray  felt  an  interest  in  the  Yankee  soldier ; 
she  felt  that  a  friend  had  gone  when  he  took  leave  of 
them,  for  he  kindly  offered  to  enclose  a  letter  in  a 
packet  with  his  own  letters  home,  if  she  wished  to 
reply  to  her  sister's  letter. 

"  I  presume  its  contents  will  not  be  contraband," 
said  he  with  a  smile. 

"  Not  to  the  United  States  Government,"  said  the 
lady,  as  he  bowed  and  withdrew,  after  handing  Mrs. 
Murray  his  address. 

It  was  with  mingled  emotions  that  Mrs.  Murray 
broke  the  seal  of  the  letter  she  had  held  with  trem- 
bling hands  since  it  was  given  her. 

"  Mother,  why  are  you  so  long  about  opening  that 
missive  ?  why,  I  am  quite  impatient  to  know  its  con- 
tents," said  the  daughter. 

"Hope  and  fear  alternately  taking  each  other's 
places  in  my  heart,  affects  me  so  much  that  I  am 
hardly  in  possession  of  my  reason  ;  I  am  very  ner- 
vous." 

' '  AYhat  do  you  fear,  mother,  from  your  friends, 
wlien  they  have  addressed  you  without  waiting  for 
you  to  write  first  ?  " 


108  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

"  0,  Clara  !  you  cannot  imagine  my  feelings.  But 
you  may  read  this  letter  aloud,  and  then  I  shall  know 
the  worst  at  once/7  said  Mrs.  Murray,  as  she  handed 
the  important  missive  to  her  daughter. 

Clara  took  from  its  envelope  a  small  sheet  of  note 
paper,  and  read  with  eagerness  the  following  :  — 

"  I  cannot,  my  dear  sister,  deny  myself  the  privi- 
lege of  communicating  a  few  thoughts  to  you,  as  I 
have  an  opportunity  to  send  a  letter,  although  I  have 
some  reason  to  fear  that  it  may  not  be  acceptable.  A 
yousg  friend  has  written  to  my  daughter  an  account 
of  a  little  adventure  he  had  with  a  young  lady,  who,  I 
am  persuaded,  is  your  daughter.  This  friend  spoke 
of  the  anxiety  expressed  by  this  dear  girl,  to  know  some- 
thing about  her  mother's  relatives.  I  hope  her  mother 
is  not  feeling  indifferent  still,  in  regard  to  the  mother 
who  bore  her,  and  whose  heart  has  bled  for  years  at 
the  thought  of  the  unnatural  estrangement  of  a  much- 
loved  child.  My  heart  goes  out  in  tenderness  towards 
your  daughter,  while  it  yearns  to  clasp  a  sister  who 
can  love  me,  to  my  heart.  Would  you  could  come  to 
your  Northern  friends  now,  if  you  have  not  ceased  to 
love  us.  I  hardly  dare  hope  for  an  answer  to  this, 
and  yet,  what  your  daughter  said  to  Mr.  Philips,  or 
the  manner  in  which  she  spoke  of  her  mother's  friends, 
bids  me  hope  your  neglect  has  not  been  wholly  volun- 
tary on  your  part.  The  bearer  of  this  to  you,  will, 
with  pleasure,  forward  a  letter  from  yourself  to  your 
affectionate  sister, 

"B.  Jenkins. 

"  Oak  Dale,  August,  1862." 

Mrs.  Murray  wept,  even  sobbed  convulsively,  as 
she  listened  to  the  tender  words  addressed  to  her,  by 
this  long-neglected  relative.  As  soon  as  she  became 
sufficiently  composed  to  write,  she  penned  an  answer. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  109 

"  My  ever  dear,  though  sinfully  neglected  sister : 
I  thank  you  for  your  letter;  how  grateful  I  do  feel,  you 
cannot  know.  I  have  acted  an  unnatural  part,  my  dear 
Bessie,  I  confess.  I  have  not  wished  to  be  estranged 
from  yourself,  mother,  or  my  other  friends  at  the  North, 
yet  I  have  been  unable  to  do  as  I  have  wished.  I  long- 
to  see  our  mother  and  yourself  very  much.  Docs  moth- 
er still  love  me  ?  My  daughter  is  very  anxious  to  know 
you.  I  hope  I  shall  be  permitted  to  see  you  once 
more  on  earth.  I  do  not  like  to  live  in  this  region 
now  ;  I  have  not  a  particle  of  sympathy  with  this 
wicked  Rebellion.  My  husband  does  not  view  things 
as  I  do  at  this  crisis,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Your  kind  letter  is  indeed  a  God-send  at  this  time,  to 
my  faint  heart.  My  children,  too,  are  a  comfort, 
without  which,  I  feel  that  I  should  die.  My  dear 
sister,  write  to  me  again,  and  love  and  pity  your  af- 
flicted sister, 

"  Clara  Murray. 

"August  BO,  1862." 

When  Mrs.  Murray  had  written  the  preceding 
letter,  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  gave  herself  up  for  the  time,  to 
perplexing  .thoughts. 

Clara  entered  the  room,  and  perceiving  the  letter 
and  position  of  her  mother,  requested  permission  to 
add  a  postscript  to  her  aunt.  Her  mother  readily 
consented,  and  she  sat  down  and  wrote  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"  My  dear  Aunt:  — 

"  Although  I  have  never  seen  you,  and  but  recent- 
ly heard  that  I  had  such  a  relative,  I  feel  it  a  privi- 
lege* to  be  allowed  to  address  you.  I  want  much  to 
see  you,  and  so  does  my  brother  Edgar.  I  have  no 
sister,  and  only  this  brother,  who,  with  our  mother 
and  the  servants,  at  present  compose  our  family. 
10 


110  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Perhaps  I  feel  more  interest  in  you  because  you  be- 
long to  the  North ;  for  since  I  have  been  old  enough 
to  understand  right  from  wrong  on  the  agitating  sub- 
jects discussed  in  our  country,  my  sympathies  have ever 
been  with  the  people  of  New  England.  I  have  known 
some  very  good  and  very  -intelligent  people  who  came 
from  the  land  of  the  Puritans,  and  it  has  made  me 
love  that  part  of  the  country  very  much  ;  and  since  I 
have  learned  that  mother  has  friends  there,  I  feel  as  if 
I  could  fly  to  reach  the  place.  Do  write  to  mother 
again  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  don't  want  to  be  an  un- 
dutiful  child,  dear  aunt,  still,  1  do  not  and  can  not 
think  it  right  for  my  mother  to  be  kept  from  her 
friends,  just  to  gratify  my  father's  pride.  What  if 
our  relatives  are  not  as  wealthy  as  father  is,  they  are 
good;  they  are  worth  as  much  as  if  they  were  rich. 
I  think  mother  ought  to  visit  her  Northern  friends,  and 
brother  and  myself  never  mean  to  cease  urging  her  to 
do  so,  until  she  goes  to  her  girlhood's  home  once 
more.  I  am  very,  very  glad  that  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Philips  :  I  hope  his  regiment  will  not  be  ordered  away 
for  a  long  time  to  come,  for  I  love  to  have  the  Union 
soldiers  so  near  us.  We  hear  that  father  is  a  prison- 
er, but  we  don't  believe  that  he  will  be  shut  up  in  any 
loathsome  prison.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am 
that  he  is  not  a  friend  to  the  good  old  Union  ;  and  I 
cannot  tell  you  either  how  troubled  I  am  at  the  state 
of  affairs  here  in  the  South.  I  am  determined  not  to 
stay  here  if  I  can  get  mother  and  Edgar  away  with 
me.  Give  my  love  to  grandmother,  who  I  am  glad  to 
learn  is  still  living  and  well ;  and  ask  her  to  pray  that 
we  may  be  able  to  leave  this  now,  to  me,  hateful 
place.  Pray  too,  yourself,  dear  aunt,  for  your  unseen 
niece, 

"  Clara  Murray. 
"August  SO,  1862." 

What  have  you  written,  my  daughter  ?  "   inquired 
her  mother,  as  Clara  laid  down  her  pen. 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  Ill 

"  You  can  read  my  long  postscript,  mother." 
"  Will  you  read  it  to  me,  my  dear  ?  " 
Clara  willingly  complied  with  this  request,  and  her 
mother  was  surprised  at  the  rapidity  with  which  her 
daughter  had  written,  for  she  had  been  busy  with  her 
pen  but  a  few  moments. 

"Why,  Clara,  how  much  you  have  written/ ;  ex- 
claimed she,  as  her  daughter  finished  reading  her  let- 
ter. "  I  wish  I  could  write  as  fast,  and  I  wish  I  was 
gifted  as  a  writer,  so  that  I  could  earn  a  livelihood,  if 
anything  should  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  take  care 
of  myself  and  family." 

"Isn't  it  strange,  my  dear  mother,  that  I  have 
wished  the  same  thing  for  myself  ?  It  seems  to  me, 
that  something  is  likely  to  take  place  that  will  make 
a  change  in  our  situation.7' 

"  The  times  threaten  evil,  certainly,"  replied  Mrs. 
Murray,  "  and  I  would  like  to  be  prepared  for  the 
worst  that  may  come  upon  us." 

Just  then  a  heavy  step  was  heard  in  the  passage  ; 
the  door  of  the  room  was  opened,  and  Col.  Murray 
stood  before  them.  The  wife  arose  and  advanced  to 
meet  her  husband,  while  Clara  took  the  letter  which 
was  lying  unfolded  upon  her  mother's  writing-desk, 
and  laid  it  in  a  drawer  of  a  bureau  which  stood  near 
her.  Her  father  had  perceived  the  letter  as  he  entered 
the  room,  and  ever  jealous  lest  his  wife  should  hold 
communication  with  her  friends,  he  at  once  resolved 
to  know  its  contents.  After  greeting  his  wife  and 
daughter,  and  learning  that  affairs  at  home  were  in 
much  the  same  condition  in  which  he  had  left  them, 
he  turned  to  Clara,  and  remarked,  with  some  appear- 
ance of  carelessness  — 


112  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"I  should  suppose  you  had  amused  yourself  at 
times  by  using  your  pen,  in  your  hours  of  loneliness. " 

"  I  have  written  a  little,  father,  for  I  love  to  write, 
you  know,"  was  the  daughter's  quiet  reply. 

"  What  have  you  written  on  the  sheet  I  saw  you 
put  by,  daughter  ?  I  feel  interested,  and  would  love  to 
see  your  manuscript.'7 

"  I  don't  feel  that  it  would  be  worth  the  trouble  of 
a  perusal,  father." 

"  I  think  I  must  be  the  judge  in  regard  to  that." 

"  But,  father,  you  will  not  insist  that  I  shall  expose 
any  girlish  sentiments  I  may  have  penned  to  another, 
to  you  ;  you  are  too  generous  to  do  so." 

"  What  have  you  been  writing,  a  love-letter  ?  " 

"No," I  have  not;  my  missive  is  addressed  to  a 
female  friend." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  friend,  Clara?  "  asked 
Col.  Murray,  studying  the  countenance  of  his  daugh- 
ter in  the  mean  time. 

Clara  did  not  reply  at  once  ;  she  would  not  utter  a 
falsehood,  and  she  dreaded  the  storm  which  she  feared 
would  burst  upon  her  mother's  head  if  she  mentioned 
the  name  of  her  aunt.  For  herself  she  feared  little  ; 
hers  was  not  a  timid  nature,  and  her  courage  was 
strengthened  by  the  unhappy  circumstances  in  -which 
her  mother  was  placed.  "I  can  bear  anything  my- 
self," thought  she,  as  she  sat  considering  what  she 
ought  to  do,  "  but  my  poor  timid,  sensitive  mother; 
and  then,  if  father  should  place  Edgar  away  from  us  or 
from  her  it  would  be  terrible." 

"I  am  waiting  for  your  reply,  Clara,"  said  her 
father,  thus  abruptly  intruding  upon  her  reflections, 
in  no  very  gentle  mood.  "I  insist  upon  knowing 
the  name  of  your  correspondent,  at  once." 


1JESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  113 

Swiftly  came  to  the  mind  of  the  trembling  girl  those 
precious  words  of  sacred  truth,  "  What  time  I  am 
afraid,  I  will  trust  in  thee."  Iler  heart  responded  to 
them,  and  leaving  results  with  God,  she  answered  in  a 
mild,  yet  firm  tone,  "  I  have  been  writing  to  my  aunt 
Jenkins. " 

"Your  aunt  Jenkins/7  repeated  her  father,  in  a 
scornful  tone;  "and  who,  pray,  authorized  you  to 
write  to  that  plebeian  woman  ?  or,  I  should  ask  first, 
who  told  you  that  you  had  such  a  relative  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  told  to  address  her  by  any  one  ;  I 
wrote  to  her  because  I  wished  to  ;  and  providentially, 
I  learned  that  I  had  such  a  relative,  although,  — —  n 
here  Clara  hesitated,  and  sat  silent  a  minute. 

"Go  on,"  said  her  father,  angrily.  "Goon;  al- 
though what  ?     I  would  hear  all  you  have  to  say." 

"  You  seem  angry,  father,  but  I  would  not  offend 
you,"  said  Clara,  rising  and  approaching  him. 

"  Sit  down,  and  tell  me  what  it  was  you  hesitated 
to  say." 

"  It  was,  that  I  have  wondered,  ever  since  I  was  old 
enough  to  think,  that  my  mother  had  not  relatives  as 
well  as  yourself,  father ;  and  I  have  asked  mother, 
but  she  has  always  evaded  my  questions  upon  the 
subject,  so  that  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  some  horrible  mystery  hanging  over  her 
birth.  Had  mother  told  me  her  friends  were  all  dead, 
I  should  have  rested  content ;  but  her  desire  always 
to  evade  my  questionings,  led  me  to  think,  and  to 
think  a  great  deal.  Edgar,  too,  has.sympathized  with 
me  in  these  feelings,  and  because  we  couldn't  talk 
with  others  about  our  anxieties;  we  have  talked  with 
each  other.  You  need  not  blame  my  mother,"  said 
10* 


114  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

the  heroic  girl,  seeing  her  father  glance  angrily  at  his 
wife  ;  "if  there  is  any  blame,  I  deserve  to  have  it 
laid  upon  me." 

"  Give  me  the  letter  you  have  penned,  Clara,"  said 
her  father. 

The  young  lady  arose  and  walked  leisurely  to  the 
bureau,  opened  the  drawer,  and  handed  the  unfolded 
sheet  to  her  father,  whose  face,  as  he  perused  it,  grew 
black  with  passion.  When  he  had  finished  reading 
it,  he  tore  it  to  atoms,  then  arose,  and  stamping  fu- 
riously at  his  wife,  asked  her  how  she  dared  to  dis- 
obey him  thus.  Terrified  beyond  measure,  she  could 
scarcely  articulate,  but  at  length  she  spoke  mildly, 
saying,  "  It  surely  is  not  a  crime  for  me  to  wish  to 
hear  from  my  own  dear  mother  and  sister." 

"It  is  a  crime  for  you  to  disobey  your  husband. 
You  will  pay  dearly  for  this,  madam." 

The  timid  woman  was  about  to  reply,  but  ere  she 
could  speak,  Clara  confronted  her  angry  father. 

"  You,  my  father,  have  forgotten,"  said  she,  look- 
ing earnestly  into  his  excited  countenance,  "  that  the 
Bible  says  wives  and  children  are  only  to  obey  their 
husbands  and  parents,  in  the  Lord.  They  are  not  to 
disobey  God,  to  please  any  one.  Mother  owes  her 
relatives  duties,  as  well  as  you." 

"And  you  dare  stand  here  and  say  that  tome," 
said  the  angry  man. 

"Yes,  father,  I  dare,  even  if  you  knock  me  down 
for  saying  it,  because  it  is  sacred  truth  ;  I  would  not 
be  impertinent,  but  I  must  say  that  my  mother  has 
been  wronged,  is  still  wronged,  by  you  ;  my  dear 
father,  don't  wrong  her  any  more,  but  vent  all  your 
anger  upon  me  ;  I  am  strong,  and  can  bear  it.     It  was 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  115 

I  who  desired  and  urged  mother  to  try  and  communi- 
cate with  her  relatives,  and  I  will  never  give  up  my 
efforts  until  I  am  acquainted  with  them  myself." 

Clara  paused,  and  still  keeping  her  eyes  upon  her 
father's  face,  waited  for  him  to  speak.  He  regarded 
her  a  moment  in  silence  ;  it  was  plain  he  felt  that  he 
had  not  one  like  her  mother  to  deal  with,  in  his 
daughter.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  husky  tone. 
He  said,  "  and  this  from  you,  a  girl  scarcely  eighteen 
years  old.  Remember,  miss,  you  may  be  disinherited 
for  your  disregard  of  my  authority,  if  you  don't  re- 
pent of  your  folly. " 

"  I  do  not  defy  your  rightful  authority,  but  I  do 
know  that  we  must  obey  God  rather  than  man." 

"  The  Bible  says  a  wife  is  to  forsake  father,  mother, 
and  every  friend  for  her  husband  ;  and  I'll  make  you 
all  feel  that  my  authority  is  not  to  be  treated  lightly, 
with  impunity  ;  and  I  command  you,  Mrs.  Murray, 
and  you,  Clara,  to  stay  within  the  enclosure  of  this 
yard  until  I  give  you  permission  to  go  beyond  it.;; 

The  chivalrous  gentleman  did  not  wait  for  an  an- 
swer, but  walked  from  the  room  with  stately  step, 
and  entered  his  library. 


116  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  God  has  put  the  veil  of  secrecy  before  the  soul,  for  its  preservation." 

"  What  if  Lieutenant  Philips  should  call  here  while 
father  is  in  such  a  mood,"  thought  Clara  ;  "he  must 
not ;  "  and  she  mentally  resolved  to  prevent  his  call- 
ings She  took  her  pen  and  wrote  a  few  hasty  lines, 
informing  him  that,  for  reasons  she  could  not  then  ex- 
plain, she  feared  to  have  him  come  to  the  house  at 
present ;  and  thanking  him  for  his  kind  and  polite  at- 
tention to  her  family,  she  committed  to  his  care  a 
hastily  written  note  to  her  aunt.  It  was  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  Dear  Aunt  :  — 

"My  mother  wrote  a  loving  answer  to  your  kind 
letter,  and  I  added  a  long  postscript,  by  her  permis- 
sion ;  but  the  letter  fell  into  hands  that  destroyed  it. 
We  will  write  to  you  again  as  soon  as  we  can.  Pray 
for  us,  dear  aunt ;  we  need  the  prayers  of  those  who 
love  to  pray.  I  don't  know  what  will  befall  us  in 
these  dark  times.     Good  by. 

"  Your  troubled  niece, 

"  Clara  Murray." 

Clara  did  n't  know  how  to  reach  Raymond  herself, 
but  she  knew  that  she  could  trust  faithful  Hannah  to 
invent  a  plan  by  which  to  get  her  note  to  him  ;  so  as 
that  servant  entered  her  room  soon  after  she  had 
finished  her  little  missive,  she  told  her  in  a  low  tone 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  117 

that  it  was  very  desirable  that  the  note  should  in  some 
way  be  taken  to  Lieut.  Philips,  without  delay. 

"  Can  you  get  it  to  him,  Hannah  ?"  asked  Clara, 
with  some  agitation  of  manner. 

"  Bress  your  heart,  honey,  ye  can  trust  me  for  dat ; 
I  knows  all  'bout  it,  I  specs  ;  don't  worry  your  young 
heart,  only  look  ter  de  Lord,  and  't  '11  all  come  straight 
in  good  time."  So  saying  Hannah  concealed  the  note 
about  her  person,  and  pretended  to  be  busy  in  the 
room  near  the  library  for  a  few  minutes,  then  hastened 
away  to  do  her  errand. 

Clara's  heart  beat  anxiously.  Her  mother  sat  in  the 
same  position  in  which  her  husband  had  left  her,  with 
her  head  bowed  low  upon  her  hands,  that  rested  upon  a 
table  near  which  she  sat.  She  had  been  too  much  ab- 
sorbed to  notice  what  Clara  had  done,  and  her  daugh- 
ter did  not  think  it  best  to  disturb  her  with  the  anxi- 
ety she  knew  a  knowledge  of  it  would  cause  her. 

"  She  has  enough  to  bear  already,"  reflected  Clara, 
"  0,  is  it  not  true  that  one's  foes  shall  be  of  their  own 
household  ?  I  wonder  if  these  are  the  terrible  days 
predicted  by  our  Lord  ?  In  any  case,  however,  all  I 
need  be  anxious  about  is  to  know  my  duty,  and  do  it 
fearlessly.  I  must  try  to  comfort  mother  ;  how  I  wish 
she  was  a  Christian."  # 

With  these  thoughts  filling  her  mind,  she  took  a  seat 
upon  a  low  ottoman  standing  by  her  mother's  feet. 
"  Mother,"  said  the  dutiful  girl,  as  she  leaned  her 
head  lovingly  upon  the  arm  of  her  afflicted  parent, 
"  don't  give  up  all  as  lost ;  cheer  up,  we  shall  find  a 
way  out  of  this  ;  I  am  sure  we  shall,  only  keep  up 
good  courage." 

"  My  dear,  dear  child,"  exclaimed   Mrs.   Murray, 


118  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

wringing  her  hands  in  a  despairing  manner,  "but  for 
you  and  your  brother  I  should  wish  now  to  die  ;  I  am 
not  prepared  I  know,  but  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Don't  feel  so  sadly,  mother  ;  I  wish  you  were  a 
Christian  ;  you  would  be  so  much  stronger  if  you  could 
only  lean  upon  God." 

"  Would  I  were  a  Christian,  Clara." 

"  You  may  be,  my  dear  mother  ;  God  is  waiting  for 
you  to  make  Him  your  portion." 

"  My  dear  daughter,"  was 'All  the  mother  could  say, 
while  she  kissed  the  cheek  of  her  noble  child,  with  a 
feeling  that  she  was  not  utterly  desolate  while  she 
possessed  such  a  blessing. 

Edgar  at  this  moment  entered  the  apartment.  He  ap- 
proached very  near  his  mother  and  sister,  and  asked  in  a 
whisper  what  had  made  his  father  so  angry.  ' '  Why, ' ' 
said  he,  "  he  has  been  stamping  his  feet  upon  the  floor, 
and  walking  the  room  with  rapid  strides  for  ever  so 
long.  I  have  n't  spoken  with  him  since  he  came  home, 
for  I  did  n't  dare  go  into  the  library  where  he  is." 

"He  is  offended  with  me,"  said  Clara,  "because 
I  wrote  to  Aunt  Jenkins.  He  came  in  unexpectedly, 
saw  my  letter,  read  and  destroyed  it,  and  I  don't 
know  what  he  will  do  next." 

"  I  fear,  Edgar,"  said  the  mother,  "  that  you  will 
be  sent  away  from  us." 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,  mother,"  replied  the  boy, 
"  I  can  take  care  of  myself;  and  even  if  father  takes 
me  into  the  army,  I  can  manage  to  get  away,  and  you 
may  depend  that  in  case  he  sends  me  anywhere  from 
you,  I  shall  find  a  way,  if  my  life  is  spared,  to  get  to 
your  relatives  at  the  North,  where  I  hope  I  shall  see 
you,  before  a  great  while.  So  don't  be  unhappy,  will 
you,  dear  mother  ?  " 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  119 

His  mother  folded  him  in  her  arms.  "  Hush,"  said 
she;  "hush,  don't  breathe  a  thought  of  what  you 
intend,  to  any  one." 

"  Let  me  alone  for  keeping  my  own  counsel,"  replied 
the  boy,  in  a  soft  whisper.  "  I  wonder  folks  don't  stop 
to  consider  how  they  teach  children  and  servants  to  be 
artful,  by  being  too  exacting  in  their  demands,"  said 
Clara.  "  I  have  been  practising  in  scheming  ever  since 
this  war  began,  and  even  longer,"  she  continued, 
"  though  I  don't  love  to  do  so  at  all." 

Mrs.  Murray  sighed  deeply,  but  made  no  other 
response,  for  the  thought  came  like  a  dagger  to  her 
heart;  that  she,  by  her  foolish  vanity  and  love  of  dis- 
play, had  placed  those  dearest  to  her  in  the  unhappy 
condition  they  then  were.  The  ringing  of  the  bell  for 
tea,  at  the  usual  time,  smote  upon  the  ears  of  Mrs. 
Murray  and  her  children  that  evening.  The  summons 
came  all  too  soon  ;  they  did  not  feel  the  need  of 
refreshment ;  they  could  not  eat,  so  they  remarked  to 
each  other. 

"  But  we  must  go  down,"  said  the  mother  ;  and  she 
arose  and  led  the  way,  followed  by  her  children.  The 
husband  and  father  entered  the  supper-room  as  they 
descended  the  stairs,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  the 
table  together.  The  party  was  silent ;  this  could  not 
be  termed  a  social  board.  Little  was  eaten,  except  by 
Mr.  Murray.  Edgar  made  a  show  of  eating,  but 
most  of  the  food  to  which  he  had  been  helped,  remained 
upon  his  plate.  As  for  Mrs.  Murray  and  Clara,  they 
pretended  to  eat  nothing  ;  they  tried  to  swallow,  but 
found  they  could  not. 

When  Mr.  Murray  had  finished  his  meal,  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  regarded  his  family  a  few  mo- 


120  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

ments,  without  speaking.  Then,  pushing  his  chair 
back  from  the  table,  he  said,  he  felt  himself  a  much- 
abused  man. 

"  Even  my  wife  is  arrayed  against  me  ;  my  daugh- 
ter, too  ;  but  I  shall  take  care  this  accursed  influence 
reaches  no  farther.  You,  madam/ '  said  he,  address- 
ing his  wife  in  a  stern  tone,  "  shall  not  practise  your 
wiles  upon  my  son." 

'*  I  have  never  said  aught  to  influence  the  minds  of 
my  children  contrary  to  your  orders,"  replied  his 
wife. 

"That  is  so,  father,"  said  Clara.  "  I  did  not  get 
my  ideas  of  things  from  hearing  my  mother's  senti- 
ments, for  she  has  never,  until  within  a  few  days, 
spoken  her  thoughts  at  all." 

"  Yet  she  has  looked  them  for  years.  You,  Clara, 
dare  not  say  you  have  not  read  in  your  mother's  coun- 
tenance, disapprobation  of  my  course." 

Clara  did  not  reply  for  a  moment. 

"  Speak,  you  minion,  and  tell  me  the  truth." 

"  It  is  true,  father,  that  since  I  have  been  able  to 
reason,  I  have  felt  as  I  do,  in  regard  to  the  Govern- 
ment. It  is-  also  true  that  I  have  studied  my  mother's 
countenance  for  years,  hoping  to  read  sympathy  with 
my  own  feelings  in  its  expression.  Of  late,  I  have 
felt  that,  although  she  labored  hard  to  keep  her  feelings 
concealed,  I  have  been  able  to  read  them." 

"  Have  you  no  sympathy  for  me,  ungrateful  girl  ?  " 

"  Not  in  your  feelings  towards  the  dear  old  stars 
and  stripes,  father." 

"Don't  speak  again  in  that  way  of  that  accursed 
symbol  of  tyranny,  in  my  hearing,"  said  the  deluded 
man. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  121 

"  Mr.  Murray,  "-said  his  wife,  in  a  meek  tone,  "you 
reverence  our  patriotic  forefathers,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"1  do  ;  but  what  of  that  ?  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  point  in  question." 

"  1  was  thinking  how  very  noble  your  grandfather 
was  to  bear  patiently,  not  only  the  heavy  burden  laid 
upon  him  for  his  country,  but  also  the  want  of  his 
wife's  sympathy.  He  tried  to  persuade  her  to  think 
as  he  did,  yet  he  did  not  coerce  her,  and  he  left  her  in 
charge  of  a  large  family  of  children,  that  were  as  dear 
to  him  as  they  were  to  their  mother." 

"  Well,  what  is  that  worth?  because  old  Colonel 
Clifford  acted  in  this  respect  like  a  fool,  it  does  n't 
follow  that  I  must." 

"Yet  he  acted  nobly  toward  his  family,  you  will 
admit." 

"  Nonsense.  A  man  is  head  of  his  own  household. 
I  contend  that  a  wife  forfeits  her  claim  to  her  hus- 
band's regard  and  protection,  too,  when  she  dares 
utter  sentiments  at  variance  with  those  he  cherishes." 
"No,  husband;  not  if  her  opinions  and  sentiments 
are  in  accordance  with  the  word  of  God  ;  for  we  are 
commanded  to  obey  God  rather  than  man." 

"Do  you  claim,  madam,  that  the  Bible  sanctions 
your  admitting  beneath  my  roof  a  plebeian  Yankee, 
whom  I  despise  ?  " 

"  I  feel  justified,  under  the  circumstances,  certainly. 
T  know  I  have  not  done  you  a  wrong ;  I  would  not 
wrong  you  ;  I  never  have,  excepting  in  one  way,  and 
I  pray  I  may  never  be  guilty  of  doing  as  I  have  done, 
again,  in  that  respect." 

Mrs.  Murray  was  aroused  ;  she  spoke  with  warmth, 
not  angrily,   but  earnestly,  and  with  a  strength  she 
11 


122  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

had  never  before  felt.  Her  husband  was  surprised  at 
the  vigor  she  evinced  ;  for  she  had  been  so  long  in 
the  habit  of  yielding  silently  to  his  control,  that  he 
thought  she  could  not  do  otherwise.  He  could  not 
but  respect  the  womanhood  that  he  saw  developed  in 
her,  yet  felt  chagrined  at  the  evidence  that  she  was 
beginning  to  act  as  a  free  moral  agent,  accountable  to 
a  higher  power  than  his  own.  She  had  confessed 
that  she  had  wronged  him  ;  he  must  know  in  what 
way.  In  an  authoritative  tone,  he  bade  her  tell  him. 
She  hesitated,  not  wishing  to  provoke  him. 

"Tell  me,"  he  vociferated  in  thunder  tones;  "I 
have  a  right  to  know  your  every  thought." 

"  If  you  will  not  be  angry,  I  will  cheerfully  tell  you, 
my  husband." 

"Do  so,  then." 

"Well,  if  I  must,  I  can  in  a  few  words.  I  have 
long  and  often  violated  my  conscience  to  please  you, 
my  husband.  I  have  incurred  the  curse  of  my  heav- 
enly Father,  for  my  undutifulness  to  one  of  the  best 
of  mothers,  and  I  pray  that  I  may  be  kept  from  this 
great  sin  in  the  future." 

She  paused.  Clara  looked  upon  her  mother  with  a 
feeling  of  admiration  she  had  never  felt  before. 

"I  didn't  know  what  was  in  mother  until  now," 
thought  this  dear  girl,  while  a  feeling  of  gratitude 
glowed  in  her  young  heart.  Her  father  was  non- 
plussed for  the  moment,  yet  his  anger  was  kindled  to 
a  fiercer  flame  than  ever.  He  stamped  and  raved  like 
a  madman. 

"  What,"  said  he,  shaking  his  chivalric  fist  in  the 
faces  of  both  wife  and  daughter,  as  he  walked  the 
floor  furiously.     "  A  wife  and  daughter  set  up  a  stand- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  123 

ard  of  right,  independent  of  their  husband  and  father  ! 

I'll  make  you  feel  that  I  am  not  to  be  disobeyed  with 
impunity*     You  shall  both  suffer  for  your  temerity." 

Thinking  to  execute  his  unprincipled  threat,  he  or- 
dered a  servant  to  have  the  wardrobe  of  his  son  ready 
to  take  from  home  in  a  day  or  two,  when  he  himself 
should  leave. 

"  How  large  a  trunk  shall  I  pack  for  him,  massa  ?  " 
inquired  Hannah,  with  a  sorrowful  expression  of 
countenance;  and  her  fa^e  was  a  true  index  to  her 
heart,  which  was  sad  indeed.  Having  heard  most  of 
the  conversation  that  had  been  held  in  the  house  since 
the  return  of  Colonel  Murray,  she  was  prepared  by 
her  previous  knowledge  of  his  terrible  temper,  to  ex- 
pect the  worst.  She  had  secretly  resolved  to  do  aU 
in  her  power  to  get  her  mistress  away  from  her  home, 
away  from  the  wrath  of  that  infatuated  man. 

"  He  's  crazy,  sure  'nough,"  thought  she. 

While  Hannah  was  thinking  these  thoughts,  which 
her  master  "  could  not  bridle,"  he  was  walking  with 
furious  step,  backward  and  forward  across  the  room. 
As  he  approached  her  in  his  walk,  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment and  gave  orders  to  have  a  moderate-sized  car- 
pet-bag made  ready  for  Edgar.  One  that  would  hold 
two  or  three  changes  of  apparel ;  and  that  must  be 
made  to  do,  he  said.  "See/'  said  he,  "that  my 
orders  are  obeyed." 

"  Yes,  massa,"  said  the  servant,  as  she  left  the 
room. 

She  did  obey  her  master's  orders  to  the  letter ;  she 
made  ready  the  carpet-bag  as  she  had  been  told. 

"I  hope  I'll  be  forgiven,  if  I  am  doing  what  aint 
right,"    said    Hannah,    mentally,    as    she    hurriedly 


124  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

packed  the  wardrobe  of  Edgar.  "  I  aint  doing"  this 
for  him  to  go  with  his  'stracted  father,  an'  I  pray  my 
heavenly  Father  to  send  the  poor  boy  far  away  from 
these  terrible  things.  I  'd  die  e'ena'most,  if  I  thought 
the  poor,  dear  boy  would  have  to  go  'mong  them 
Rebels.  I  hope  Sam  wont  be  found  out  in  his  jour- 
ney ;  if  he  don't,  we  '11  git  'long,  but  if  he  does,  he  '11 
be  killed  sure,  for  massa's  blood  is  up,  bilin'  hot,  I  do 
bleve." 

Mrs.  Murray's  heart  bled4  as  she  reflected  upon  her 
situation,  and  that  of  her  children.  "  I  could  easily 
bring  fair  weather  to  my  home  again,  if  I  could  only 
tell  my  husband  that  I  sympathize  with  him,  now,  but 
I  dare  not.  I  feel  that  he  is  wrong,  all  wrong.  I 
dare  not,  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  him,  pretend  to  what 
I  do  not  feel.  0,  my  offended  Saviour,"  cried  the 
wretched  woman,  as  she  threw  herself  upon  her  face 
upon  the  floor  of  her  chamber,  "I  am  sinful  and 
lost ;  0,  save  me,  for  thy  mercies'  sake." 

This  prayer,  as  it  came  from  the  heart  of  this  suf- 
ferer, was  heard  in  heaven.  Mrs.  Murray  soon  arose 
from  the  hopeless  attitude  she  had  taken,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  trust  in  God,  her  Saviour,  to  which  she  had 
hitherto  been  a  stranger. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


125 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


"  Calamities  come  not  as  a  curse ; 

struggle,  thou  art  better  for  the  strife, 

And  the  very  energy  shall  hearten  thee."  Tupper. 

When  Clara  left  the  supper-room,  she  went  directly 
to  her  own  chamber.  Her  heart  was  deeply  burdened, 
and  she  felt  that  she  must  seek  relief  in  prayer  before 
she  could  talk  with  her  mother.  With  the  simplicity 
of  a  trusting  child,  she  went  to  her  heavenly  Father,  in 
her  extremity  ;  she  asked  that  her  mother  might  be 
sustained  and  brought  to  an  experimental  knowledge 
of  the  love  and  mercy  of  God  ;  that  her  father  might 
be  turned  from  his  sinful  course,  and  that  she  might 
be  assisted  in  her  attempts  to  save  her  mother  from 
greater  suffering.  She  felt  strengthened,  as  she  sought 
her  mother  after  an  hour  had  passed,  while  she  had 
been  alone  with  her  heavenly  Father. 

The  first  glimpse  Clara  had  of  her  mother's  counte- 
nance told  of  unwonted  resolution;  and  when  that  loved 
relative  expressed  her  determination  to  abide  by  the 
decision  she  had  made  in  regard  to  her  Northern 
friends,  Clara  was  delighted.  Mrs.  Murray  wondered 
at  her  daughter's  joy,  and  told  her  it  seemed  strange 
to  her  that  she  could  feel  pleasure  at  such  a  time  of 
trying  uncertainty. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  my  dear  mother,"  she  replied ;  "it 

is  true   that,   in  our  present  circumstances,   there  is 

pmeh  that  is  depressing,  still,  I  am  pleased  with  your 

resolution  to  go  on  as  you  have  begun,  in  regard  to 

11* 


126  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

your  duty  to  your  relatives.  Why,  I  don't  know  but 
I  shall  want  to  thank  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  &  Co.  for 
bringing  about  this  war,  since  it  has  opened  your  eyes 
to  behold  the  wrong  you  were  doing  under  cover  of 
duty." 

"0,  that  is  what  pleases  you  so  much  then,  my 
daughter  ;  the  idea  that  you  are  to  know  your  rel- 
atives." 

"  That  is  not  all,  mother  ;  it  is  true  I  want  to  see 
my  grandmother,  aunt,  cousins,  and  the  place  where 
you  were  born  ;  it  will  be  delightful  to  me  ;  but  the 
thought  that  you  are  aroused  to  a  sense  of  the  slavish, 
miserable  condition  in  which  you  have  lived,  in  order 
to  keep  peace,  so  many  years,  is  the  one  great  source 
of  pleasure  to  me  now." 

"  We  shall  be  obliged  to  suffer,  Clara,  and  I  fear  for 
you  and  Edgar." 

"Don't  worry  about  us  ;  only  be  firm  and  determined 
to  abide  by  the  right,  and  a  way  will  be  opened." 

"  You  are  young  to  be  a  heroine,  daughter  ;  you 
don't  know  anything  about  the  difficulties  that  may 
meet  you  in  the  way  you  have  marked  out  for  your- 
self." 

"Mother,  God  says  our  strength  shall  be  equal  to 
our  day.     His  word  is  sure." 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  that  it  is,  continually,"  said 
Mrs.  Murray,  "  I  will  pray  that  I  may." 

Little  opportunity  was  afforded  this  mother  and 
daughter  to  solace  each  other  during  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed that  on  which  Colonel  Murray  surprised  his 
family  by  his  unlooked-for  return.  The  day  appointed 
b3"this  unkind  husband  and  father  to  separate  his  family 
dawned,  as  he  thought,  auspiciously,  to  aid  him.     The 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND .  127 

breakfast-bell  rang",  and  the  family  assembled  and 
Beated  themselves  at  the  table  where  was  spread  the 
morning  repast.  Colonel  Murray  scarcely  noticed  his 
Wife  or  daughter  until  he  had  finished  his  own  break- 
then,  without  seeming  aware  that  very  few 
mouthfuls  had  been  tasted  by  any  one  excepting  him- 
self, he  moved  his  chair  a  few  feet  from  the  table,  and 
announced  his  determination  to  those  whom  he  styled 
unworthy  to  be  called  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"I  am  determined,  madam,"  said  he,  addressing 
himself  to  Mrs.  Murray,  "to  separate  you  from  Edgar, 
from  this  time.  He  shall  be  influenced  to  regard  you 
with  the  contempt  you  merit  from  him,  as  well  as 
myself." 

As  these  words  were  uttered  by  him  who  had  been 
regarded  by  his  wife  with  a  feeling  bordering  on  idol- 
atry,  the  susceptible  and  unhappy  woman  fainted. 
A  scene  of  confusion  ensued  which  interrupted  the 
Colonel  for  a  time.  He  sat  with  lowering  brow  in  un- 
natural silence,  unmoved  by  the  distress  of  her  whom 
he  had  so  deeply  wronged.  What  was  her  suffering 
to  him  ?  She  had  it  brought  upon  herself  by  daring 
to  think  and  act  according  to  the  dictates  of  her  own 
conscience.  This,  he  contended,  she  had  no  right  to 
do.  Suffering  might  bring  her  to  think  as  he  wished 
her  to  ;  at  any  rate,  she  should  be  punished  for  her 
temerity,  and  so  should  Clara. 

He  was  too  much  occupied  to  notice  the  egress  of 
Edgar,  which  took  place  at  the  moment  his  mother 
was  sinking  to  the  floor,  under  the  terrible  blow  his 
father  had  inflicted  upon  her  peace  of  mind.  The 
noble  boy  was  spared  a  knowledge  of  this,  for  his 
haste  took  him  immediately  beyond  the  bounds  of  his 
father's  estate,  large  though  it  was. 


128  BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Murray  recovered  partially  from 
her  swoon,  and  was  able  to  look  about  her,  she  missed 
Edgar ;  yet  she  spoke  not  of  his  absence,  but  listened 
to  the  threats  of  her  husband  with  less  terror  than 
ever  before.  There  was  something  in  the  expression 
of  her  daughter's  countenance  that  inspired  courage, 
and  led  her  to  think  of  a  power  that  was  higher  than 
that  of  her  husband.  When  he  told  her  she  was  to 
be  a  prisoner  in  her  own  house,  she  was  unmoved  by 
the  threat,  and  he  supposed  she  was  sinking  in  the 
gloominess  of  despair,  for  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  floor,  as  if  she  heard  not.  Yet  she  did  hear,  but 
her  hope  was  becoming  fixed  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages. 

Clara,  too,  was  not  dismayed  at  her  father's  threats, 
although  she  well  knew  the  power  of  his  anger. 
When  he  said  to  her,  "I  have  arranged  matters  so 
that  your  detestable  Yankee  paramour  will  be  shot  if  he 
ventures  to  pollute  my  premises  again  with  his  pres- 
ence/' she  did  not  reply,  neither  did  she  faint.  Her 
cheek  paled,  as  she  thought  it  was  her  father  who 
addressed  her  thus,  and  she  offered  a  silent  petition  to 
Heaven  that  his  obdurate  heart  might  be  softened  by 
divine  grace.  When  her  father  told  her  she  was  to  be 
put  under  the  espionage  of  a  neighbor,  whom  she  had 
great  reason  to  despise  and  dread,  she  offered  no 
remonstrance,  but  her  plans  were  formed,  and  she 
committed  them  and  herself  to  God. 

It  was  not  until  Colonel  Murray  was  about  to  depart, 
that  he  missed  his  son  ;  he  supposed  even  then  that  he 
was  somewhere  about  the  place,  taking  leave  of  the 
people  ;  and  no  wonder  he  thought  so  ;  for  Edgar  was 
a  thoughtful,  affectionate  boy,  and  could  not  have  been 
induced,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  to  leave  his 
home  without  kindly  bidding  each  servant  good  by. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  129 

Upon  inquiry,  his  father  was  told  that  he  was  no- 
where to  be  found. 

"  Nonsense,  y  ou  niggers,"  said  he  ;  "go  and  call 
him  this  minute,  or  I  '11  have  you  all  whipped." 

"  De  good  Lord  knows,  massa,  that  we  's  looked  an' 
called/'  said  Sam,  deprecatingly,  "  but  we  can't  find 
him,  sartin." 

The  Colonel  went  himself  to  every  place  about  the 
house  where  he  was  likely  to  find  his  truant  boy,  but 
no  boy  was  visible.  Returning  to  the  dining-room, 
which  was  still  occupied  by  his  trembling  wife  and 
exultant  daughter,  he  demanded  his  son  of  them. 

"  I  know  not  where  he  is,"  said  the  mother,  alarmed 
at  the  rage  manifested  in  her  husband's  manner. 

"  Neither  do  I  know,  father,"  said  Clara. 

"You  lie,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel;  "you've  hid 
him  somewhere  ;  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,  you 
vixen." 

"  Then  I  will  say  no  more,"  replied  Clara,  mildly. 

Her  father  approached  her  with  his  arm  upraised, 
and  his  fist  tightly  clenched ;  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
his  face,  without  flinching  or  speaking,  yet  something 
in  the  expression  of  her  countenance  caused  the  mus- 
cles of  the  arm  uplifted  against  her,  to  relax,  and  the 
threatened  blow  was  not  given. 

"Who  has  Edgar  gone  away  with?"  inquired 
Colonel  Murray,  drawing  near  his  wife,  and  pausing 
for  a  reply. 

"  I  don't  know  any  more  about  it  than  you." 

"  If  this  is  true,  how  do  you  know  but  he  may  be 
drowned,  or  killed  by  some  accident  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"And  yet  I  notice  that  you  do  not  seem  greatly 
distressed  about  the  matter,  madam." 


130  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

"  It  is  true  I  feel  as  if  he  is  even  now  no  more  ;  but 
the  trial  to  me  is  a  choice  of  two  great  evils.  It  would 
grieve  me  more  to  have  him  taken  from  me  by  his 
father  in  anger,  and  placed  amid  the  influences  of 
traitors,  than  it  would  to  have  him  removed  by  death 
as  he  now  is,  uncontaminated  by  the  foul  touch  of 
treason,  the  blackest  of  crimes. " 

"  And  you  dare  speak  this  to  me?" 

"  If  I  speak  at  all,  I  must  speak  the  truth.  You 
know  I  have  never  sympathized  with  you  in  your  hos- 
tility to  the  United  States  Government ;  I  have  sacri- 
ficed my  own  feelings  on  every  point  to  please  you, 
because  I  blindly  believed  I  owed  you  submission  in 
everything,  until  my  eyes  were  opened  by  your 
expecting  me  to  subscribe  to  your  opinions  in  regard 
to  overthrowing  our  dear,  good  Government,  to  take  a 
stand  against  the  home  of  my  childhood  and  youth, 
and  my  own  relatives,  also.  With  shame  I  confess  I 
have  neglected  my  mother,  to  please  you,  and  wrong- 
fully estranged  myself  from  my  own  family.  But  I 
can  do  so  no  more  ;  I  must  obey  God  rather  than  you. 
I  wish  you  would  allow  me  by  your  acts  to  obey  you, 
too." 

"  Then,  by  all  that  is  good,  I  swear  you  shall  be 
turned  out  of  my  house.  You  are  no  wife  to  me,  and 
you  shall  see  that  I  will  make  this  home  too  hot  for 
your  ladyship's  comfort." 

Mrs.  Murray  was  not  at  all  moved  by  this  last  vehe- 
ment threat.  Her  home  had  been  anything  but  com- 
fortable, since  the  last  presidential  campaign.  She 
felt  that  it  was  probable  her  husband  might  refuse  her 
a  home,  for  his  pride  would  not,  in  these  times,  pre- 
vent his  doing  so.     As  she  had  confessed  herself  an 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  131 

enemy  to  the  u  Confederacy,"  he  should  not  be  dis- 
1  among  the  chivalry,  if  he  did  turn  her  from  his 
door.  Shfl  would  rather  he  should  turn  her  homeless 
into  the  street,  than  place  her  under  the  espionage  of 
the  neighbor  referred  to,  who  was  a  relative,  and  one, 
too,  who  was  somewhat  dependent  upon  the  patron- 
age of  Colonel  Murray.  This  gentleman  deferred  his 
journey  a  few  hours,  in  order  to  give  more  particular 
directions  to  those  at  home,  and  to  have  an  interview 
with  Mr.  Smith,  the  individual  before  alluded  to.  He 
then  left,  without  acquainting  his  wife  or  daughter  of 
his  designs.  He  had  generally  left  money  with  his 
wife  when  he  left  home,  but  he  did  not  at  this  time, 
although  he  did  not  know  but  she  was  in  need  of  it. 

After  the  departure  of  the  Colonel,   several  hours, 
passed  quietly  in  the  house  of  our  friends  ;  the  calm 
was  merely  external,  for  Mrs.   Murray  was  greatly 
troubled,  lest  the  young  Federal  officer  should  attempt 
to  call. 

Clara  was  hopeful  in  regard  to  this,  for  she  felt  sure 
that  her  little  note  had  been  carried  to  him,  although 
she  had  not  been  able  to  talk  with  the  servant  to 
whom  she  had  entrusted  it.  She  had  perfect  confi- 
dence in  Hannah,  and  could  not  believe  that  money 
would  bribe  her  to  betray  the  trust  committed  to  her. 
She  was  not  so  sure  in  regard  to  the  other  servants, 
who  were  not  governed  by  religious  principles,  as 
was  her,  good  old  nurse. 

Sam  loved  his  mistress,  and  Clara  and  her  brother, 
too  ;  but  his  master  he  did  not  love,  and  never  had. 
He  had  been  in  the  family  from  a  boy,  notwithstand- 
ing Colonel  Murray  has,  as  often  as  once  every  year, 
for  a  long  period,  threatened  to  sell  "the  scamp,  be- 


132  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

cause  he  could  not  understand  his  nigger  nature.'7 
When  the  Colonel  left,  Sam  exhibited  much  regret 
that  he  must  leave  without  being  able  to  take  his  son 
with  him  ;  and  he  essayed  to  console  the  boy's  father 
with  the  thought  that  he  would  soon  turn  up. 

'*  Ye  sees,  massa,  I  can't  help  being  sangin,  in  'gard 
to  his  turnin'  up  all  right,  'cause  I  don't  see  where 
he  'd  go  about  here  to  stay ;  he  dunno  anybody  any- 
whar  else,  so  if  he  aint  dead,  he  sure  to  come." 

"You  don't  know  anything  at  all  about  it,"  was 
the  surly  reply  of  Colonel  Murray. 

"  Not 's  ye  knows  on,"  said  Sam  to  himself,  chuck- 
ling.    "  Ye  may  sarch  and  sarch,  but  if  I  don't  know 
sartain,  I  specks  he  's  where  ye  don't  dare  show  your 
rface,  old  feller." 

And  he  returned  to  the  house,  after  seeing  his  mas- 
ter fairly  on  his  way.  There  was  great  consternation 
felt  by  the  servants  when  it  was  ascertained  that  Ed- 
gar had  disappeared.  At  first,  they  were  fearful  that 
he  was  drowned ;  but  as  every  place  had  been 
searched  carefully  where  such  an  event  could  have 
occurred,  they  wondered  greatly  what  could  have  be- 
come of  him. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  133 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

'  Away  distrust ;  — 
My  God  hath  promised :  He  is  just." 

How  Clara  wished  for  a  strong-minded,  sympathetic 
friend,  to  aid  her  mother  and  herself  in  this  hour  of 
need.  Poor  Mrs.  Murray  was  greatly  shocked  at  the 
idea  that  the  father  of  her  children  could  seem  so  es- 
tranged from  his  daughter  and  herself.  She  did  not 
love  to  reflect  that  Edgar  was  learning  to  despise  his 
father.  She  wished  her  children  would  separate  the 
acts  that  were  despicable  from  himself,  and  not  forget 
that  he  was  their  father.  She  could  not  bear  to  have 
him  estranged  from  herself ;  she  felt  lonely ;  how 
lonely,  she  realized  that  few  could  imagine  ;  and  it  is 
true  that  no  being  on  this  earth  is  so  desolate  as  an 
ill-treated  wife.  A  widow  has  the  sympathy  of  the 
world  to  sustain  her  spirit ;  yet  the  woman  who  is 
widowed  in  a  sense  far  more  deplorable  than  the  one 
from  whom  death  has  taken  a  loving  companion,  is 
scoffed  at,  and  left  .with  a  lacerated,  bleeding  heart, 
by  the  multitude,  who  practically  say  to  her,  as  they 
pass  by,  "Keep  away,  fori  am  holier  than  thou." 
Mrs.  Murray  had  often  felt  that  the  greatest  trial  that 
could  come  upon  her,  would  be  a  separation  from  her 
husband. 

Mrs.  Murray  had  often  thought,  when  she  had 
known  of  a  wife's  leaving  the  home  of  the  companion 
she  had  chosen  for  life,  that  her  conduct  was  inexcus- 
12 


134  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

able.  "  Why  did  she  not  bear  the  trial,"  she  asked, 
"and  not  expose  herself  to  the  censure  of  an  ill- 
judging  world  ?  I  will  die  before  I  will  ever  be 
separated  from  my  husband."  Poor  Mrs.  Murray  had 
been  very  sincere  in  thinking  thus,  and  she  had  too 
often  reflected  with  pleasure  that  she  had  borne  a 
great  deal  from  her  husband,  whom  she  was  forced, 
much  against  her  feelings,  to  believe  a  despot  in  will ; 
"  and  I  shall  bear  to  the  end,"  she  had  often  said  to 
herself;  "  I  have  promised  to  be  faithful  as  a  wife,  and 
I  owe  my  husband  my  first  duty." 

Had  Mrs.  Murray  remembered  that  only  in  the  Lord 
had  she  promised  to  be  faithful  to  her  husband,  and 
had  she  told  him  that  she  could  not  neglect  the  mother 
that  gave  her  birth,  and  guided  her  to  womanhood, 
without  displeasing  her  God,  and  that,  much  as  she 
loved  him,  she  loved  her  Saviour  more,  God  would 
have  sustained  her,  and  carried  her,  perhaps,  through 
life,  without  having  obliged  her  to  feel  the  rod  laid 
upon  her  in  the  form  of  taunts  and  jeers,  from  a  world 
who  were  not  fitted  for  judging  her,  because  they  did 
not,  and  could  not,  understand  the  circumstances  in 
which  she  had  been  placed.  How  her  poor  heart 
ached,  as  she  found  her  husband  had  executed  his 
threat  in  regard  to  making  her  a  prisoner.  Shame 
wellnigh  sunk  her  to  the  earth.  Suspicions  might 
have  been  entertained  by  some  before  that  all  was 
not  just  right  in  her  home,  but  now  it  was  known  to 
be  a  fact.  How  could  she  bear  the  withering  conse- 
quences of  the  disclosures  that  the  past  day  had 
made  ? 

"  My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear,"  she 
exclaimed  in  an  agony  of  feeling,  as  a  full  sense  of 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  135 

her  situation  was  felt  by  her.  She  walked  her  room 
in  anguish  of  spirit,  for  a  time  ;  then  her  eye  rested 
upon  a  Bible  ;  she  stopped  in  her  walk,  took  it  up,  and 
opened  it.  She  read  the  expression  of  a  soul,  uttered 
when  borne  down  by  sorrow,  and  her  soul  caught  the 
inspiration,  and  with  one  of  old  she  exclaimed,  **  I 
will  bear  the  indignation  of  the  Lord,  because  I  have 
sinned  against  Him."  "  Yes,"  said  she,  mentally,  "  I 
will  bear  this  chastisement,  and  God  will  help  me;" 
and  as  she  unfastened  the  door  of  her  room,  and 
emerged  from  its  solitude,  she  felt  that  she  was  over- 
coming, and  could  plead  the  promise  made  to  those 
who  have  conflict  with  sin,  and  are  enabled  to  over- 
come through  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  She  could  bear 
to  think  now  of  leaving  her  elegant  home,  better  than 
before  ;  still,  the  thought  of  the  wickedness  that  made 
it  necessary  that  she  should  do  so,  was  dreadful  to 
her.  Yet  this  spot  so  dear  to  her,  was  not  the  first 
lovely  place  that  sin  has  defiled  and  polluted  with  its 
loathsome  presence.  It  dared  enter  Eden  in  the  guise 
of  a  serpent,  and  why  should  it  not  lift  its  hateful  head 
in  the  beautiful  mansions  of  the  South  ? 

"  Could  I  only  have  the  privilege  of  thinking  as! 
wish,  and  see  and  hear  from  my  relatives,  how  beauti- 
ful this  place  would  seem,"  remarked  Mrs.  Murray  to 
her  daughter,  whom  she  met  in  the  hall  soon  after  she 
left  her  room. 

"It  would,  certainly,"  replied  Clara;  "but  as  we 
are  situated  now,  it  is  only  a  very  genteel  prison." 

"I  know  it,"  answered  her  mother  with  a  sigh, 
"  yet  how  are  we  to  get  away  ?  " 

"We  must  wait  and  be  patient  awhile,  and  if  father 
does  not  come  again  to  make  any  change,  we  will 


136  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

allow  Mr.  Smith  to  watch  us  for  awhile,  and  I  will 
watch  him  at  the  same  time.  He  will  relax  his  vigi- 
lance after  awhile,  for  I  heard  him  say  to  an  acquaint- 
ance only  this  morning,  that  neither  you  nor  I  had 
pluck  enough  to  do  anything.  We  will  let  him  glory 
in  this  opinion  for  a  time,  for  it  will  facilitate  our 
escape." 

"  But,  oh,  where  can  Edgar  be?  If  I  might  only 
hear  from  him,  I  should  be  stronger  to  act,  I  think." 

"  My  dear  mother,  let  us  believe  that  God  will  take 
care  of  him,  and  answer  our  prayers  by  guiding  him 
to  some  friendly  influence,  by  means  of  which  your 
heart  may  yet  be  made  glad.  Let  us  trust  him  with 
God." 

Mrs.  Murray  remained  silent  a  short  time,  and  then 
said  firmly,  "  I  can  do  nothing  but  leave  him  with  God  ; 
where  else  can  I  look  but  to  Him,  or  to  whom  else  can 
I  go  in  this  hour  of  distress  ?  This  terrible  waiting 
in  suspense,  and  dreading  untold  evil.  But  we  will 
wait  and  trust." 


BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND.  137 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"Love,  hope,  and  patience,  these  must  be  thy  graces, 
And  in  thine  own  heart  let  them  first  keep  school." 

u  It  may  be  thou  art  entered  into  a  cloud,  which  will  bring  a  gentle  shower 
to  refresh  thy  sorrows." 

As  Raymond  Philips  was  standing  in  his  tent  door  on 
the  evening  that  Clara  entrusted  her  note  to  Hannah, 
he  saw  a  form  approaching  him,  and  looked  long 
ere  he  determined  that  he  was  not  experiencing  an 
optical  delusion.  So  singular  did  this  figure  appear, 
that  when  it  drew  near -he  was  uncertain  whether  it 
was  a  man  or  woman.  He  gazed  steadily  until  the 
spectral  figure  halted  before  him,  and  spoke,  "  Can 
you  tell  me,  massa,  where  I  can  find  Captain 
Philips?"  asked  the  decrepit  person  in  a  strange 
voice. 

"  Are  you  -sure  it  is  Captain  Philips  you  want," 
asked  Raymond,  kindly  ;  may  it  not  be  Lieutenant 
Philips  ?  " 

"I  want  a  young  Yankee  gentleman,  what  helped 
a  young  lady,  when  a  hoss  knocked  her  down  one 
day,"  was  the  reply  given. 

"  I  assisted  a  young  lady,  not  long  ago,  who  was 
knocked  down  by  a  horse,  and  my  name  is  Philips." 

"  Did  you  ever  call  at  de  Colonel's  ?  " 

"  Colonel  Murray's  you  mean,  I  suppose  ;  if  so,  I 
have  called  there." 

The  head  of  the  figure  nodded  as  if  in  approbation 
of  what  the  young  officer  had  uttered. 

"  But,"  Raymond  interrogated,  "  who  are  you  ?  " 
12* 


138  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"  Ps  a  friend  to  de  dear  young  lady,  Miss  Clara, 
Fs  no  enemy." 

These  last  words  were  spoken  in  the  lowest  tone 
possible. 

"  Have  you  a  message,  or  anything  for  me,  that 
your  young  mistress  has  sent  ?  " 

"  Will  ye  tell  me  what  State  ye  come  from?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.     I  belong  to  Massachusetts." 

"  Then  I  reckon  ye  're  the  one  I  want,  so  here  's  a 
letter  for  ye  from  my  missus." 

Raymond  took  the  note  handed  him  by  the  faithful 
woman,  and  she  disappeared,  but  not  as  she  had  come. 
There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  existing  in  his  mind 
in  regard  to  her  sex,  or  relation  to  the  family  in 
which  he  had  become  so  deeply  interested  ;  still,  he 
marvelled  how  she  had  managed  to  pass  the  guard,  for 
he  could  not  know  that  she  had" won  upon  the  feelings 
of  one  who  had  authority  to  pass  her  in  and  out. 
This  Hannah  had  done  by  means  of  her  own  contriv- 
ing ;  she  had  taken  some  pies  along  with  her,  which 
she  requested  or  rather  got  permission  to  sell  to  the 
soldiers  in  camp.  She  had  sold  them  all  for  a  mere 
trifle,  too,  ere  she  found  the  tent  of  the  young  officer 
she  sought.  Before  she  left  the  camp,  Hannah  re- 
membered that  she  ought  to  have  cautioned  the  Lieu- 
tenant about  speaking  of  her  having  been  there,  so  she 
returned  to  Raymond's  tent  just  as  he  had  read  Clara's 
note.  He  saw  her  at  the  door,  and  requested  her  to 
stop  there  a  few  moments.  He  put  the  note  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Jenkins,  with  the  one  that  accompanied  it,  into 
his  pocket,  and  then  asked  Hannah  to  go  with  him  a 
few  yards  from  any  tent  so  that  he  might  speak  to  her 
without  risk  of  being  overheard. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  139 

"  Tell  your  mistress,  that  I  will  not  call  at  her  house 
again,"  said  he,  "  and  tell  her,  too,  to  send  to  me  if 
she  wants  me  to  do  anything  for  her." 

"I  will,  tank  ye,  massa,"  replied  Hannah,  "  and  I 
want  ye  to  'member,  and  not  tell  anybody  that  I  come 
here." 

"  I  won't  tell,"  said  Raymond,  "you  need  not  feel 
afraid  of  that,  only  be  faithful  to  your  young  mis- 
tress." 

"  Dat  I  will,  honey,  sure,  for  massa  is  dun  gone  off 
shirk  mad,  'cause  missus  and  my  young  lady  don't 
like  such  doins'." 

Previous  to  hearing  the  unsophisticated  remarks  of 
this  honest  servant,  Raymond  had  suspected  that  Mrs. 
Murray  and  her  daughter  knew  something  of  the  trials 
to  which  many  people  who  were  constant  in  their  at- 
tachment to  the  dear  old  flag  had  endured.  He  was 
greatly  interested  in  the  welfare  of  Clara,  and  when  he 
wrote  to  Bessie,  he  gave  a  glowing  picture  of  her 
womanly  loveliness  in  his  letter.  Be  also  enclosed  the 
tiny  note  to  her  aunt,  which  had  been  handed  him  by 
the  faithful  Hannah. 

"  How  pleased  Bessie  will  be,"  thought  Raymond, 
"  with  my  description  of  her  unknown  cousin.  How 
glad  I  am,  that  Providence  directed  my  footsteps 
where  I  can  be  a  medium  of  communication  between 
these  sisters,  who  have  been  so  long  estranged  from 
each  other.  And  then,  this  cousin  of  Bessie's,  it 
seems,  is  becoming  something  of  a  heroine.  I  would 
be  glad  to  take  this  note  in  person  to  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
and  see  her  and  Bessie  when  they  read  it." 

Thus  thought  Raymond,  and  he  was  judging  Bessie 
by   his   own  feelings.      He   thought   he  judged   her 


140  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

rightly  ;  he  thought  he  understood  Bessie  thoroughly, 
and  he  longed  for  a  reply  to  his  missive,  feeling  that 
he  should  enjoy,  in  sympathy,  the  pleasure  Bessie 
would  experience  in  reading  the  account  he  had  given 
of  her  Southern  friends.  Days  passed  beyond  the 
usual  time  that  he  was  wont  to  receive  an  answer  to 
his  letters,  and  still  no  answer  came.  He  was  not 
much  occupied  with  business  at  this  time,  so  the  days 
passed  wearily  in  expectation.  He  waited  more  than 
a  week,  after  he  had  a  right  to  look  for  a  letter,  and  as 
none  came  he  determined  to  write  again,  thinking  his 
missive  had  miscarried.  He  again  wrote  a  very  affec- 
tionate letter,  repeating  much  that  he  had  written  be- 
fore, and  mentioned  the  fact  that  he  had  enclosed  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Murray's  daughter  to  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
which  he  hoped  had  reached  her,  although  he  feared  it 
had  not,  as  Bessie  had  not  written  a  reply  to  his. 

He  stated  also  that  he  was  convinced  that  Mrs. 
Murray  and  daughter  were  suffering  for  indulging 
TJnion  sentiment*,  and  for  that  reason,  alone,  he  felt 
they  had  a  claim  upon  his  kindest  regards  ;  but  they 
were  relatives  of  Bessie  beside,  and  he  felt  a  lively  in- 
terest in  the  welfare  of  both  mother  and  daughter. 
He  entreated  Bessie  to  write  without  any  delay  when 
she  should  receive  his  letter. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  -141 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  The  wicked  work  their  woe,  by  looking  upon  love  and  hating  it." 

Raymond's  letter  containing  the  note  of  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray had  been  duly  received  by  Bessie,  and  the  note  it 
contained  was  read  and  re-read  by  her  mother,  with 
feelings  of  joy.  Bessie's  pleasure  was  qualified  ;  she 
read  the  description  Raymond  had  given  of  her  unseen 
cousin,  and  his  expressions  of  interest  in  that  young 
lady  without  a  particle  of  unalloyed  joy.  Her  counte- 
nance betrayed  her  feelings. 

"  Why,  Bessie  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother,  "  what 
has  Raymond  written  to  you  to  make  you  look  so 
dolorous  ?  I  should  think  you  would  be  delighted  to 
hear  from  your  cousin,  you  have  been  so  anxious  to 
know  her." 

"  But,"  said  Bessie,  with  an  expression  of  dissatis- 
faction upon  her  countenance,  "  I  didn't  expect  Ray- 
mond to  go  into  ecstasies  about  her." 

"  Why,  my  daughter;  are  you  not  glad  that  he  is 
pleased  with  her  ?  " 

"  He  might  be  pleased  with  her,  and  yet  not  think 
her  so  very  lovely." 

"How  can  he  help  it,  if  she  is  as  he  describes 
her?" 

"He  need  n't  have  sent  home  a  glowing  descrip- 
tion of  her  charms  to  me.  I  am  not  pleased  ;  I  don't 
care  to  hear  of  her  loveliness  through  him." 

"  Bessie,  read  Raymond's  letter  to  me,  will  you  ?  " 


142  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  ;  "  and  Bessie  proved  that  this 
supposition  was  right,  by  roading  it  to  her  mother. 
When  she  had  finished  reading,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"What  ails  }^ou,  daughter  ?  "  tenderly  inquired  Mrs. 
Jenkins.  I  see  nothing  in  that  missive  to  bring  tears. 
I  think  it  is  very  affectionate,  and  I  love  Raymond 
more  than  ever  before,  for  the  nobleness  of  feeling  he 
has  manifested  towards  our  almost  stranger  rela- 
tives." 

"If  Raymond  loved  me  as  he  orient  to,  he  could 
not  think  as  much  of  any  other  woman,  as  he  seems  to 
think  of  my  cousin.  You  know  he  was  attracted 
towards  her  when  he  did  not  know  but  shet  was  an 
enemy." 

"  True  ;  but  suppose  she  had  proved  to  be  an  ene- 
my and  needed  help,  would  you  have  respected  Ray- 
mond if  he  had  not  run  to  her  assistance  ?  " 

Bessie  did  not  answer  this  question,  and  her  mother 
went  on.  "  I  should  have  thought  much  less  of  him 
than  I  now  do,  and  so  would  people  in  general." 

"  I  don't  care  what  people  would  think ;  I  don't 
want  Raymond  to  care  for  any  woman,  so  much  as  he 
appears  to  for  Clara." 

"lam  sorry  you  feel  so,  Bessie  ;  you  are  jealous, 
and  it  is  very  unreasonable  in  you  to  feel  so  about 
your  cousin.  I  am  sure  she  is  entitled  to  our  warm- 
est sympathy.  I  think,  from  what  Clara  says  in  this 
hastily  written  note,  that  her  mother  and  herself  must 
be  very  unpleasantly  situated.  I  don't  know  what  I 
can  do  for  them,  as  they  are  so  far  away,  unless, 
through  Raymond,  I  could  send  means  to  bring  them 
to  our  home." 

*•'  I  don't  want   Clara   to  be    here    with   Raymond 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  143 

when  he  comes  home,  now  that  I  know  that  he  likes 
her  so  well." 

"Nonsense  !  how  do  you  know  that  she  is  not  al- 
ready engaged  to  some  young  man  at  the  South,  who 
will  love  her  well  enough  to  come  here  for  her  sake." 

f  She  doesn't  sympathize  with  secession  at  all, 
Raymond  says,  so  she  won't  be  likely  to  leave  her 
heart  at  the  South." 

"  I  don't  suppose  all  the  young  men  at  the  South 
sympathize  with  secession.  Very  many  of  them,  I 
dare  say,  have  hardly  given  it  a  thought,  unless  in  re- 
lation to  the  draft,  which  they  dread.  The  young 
men,  South,  have  good  tastes  and  warm  hearts  ;  at 
least,  many  of  them  ;  and  it  is  n't  to  be  supposed  that 
your  brilliant  cousin  has  passed  unnoticed  in  the  cir- 
cle to  which  she  belongs,  until  now." 

"0,  dear!"  exclaimed  Bessie,  with  a  sigh,  "I 
wish  Raymond  had  n't  written  so  much  about  her, 
that's  all." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  all,"  said  the  mother,  "  and  that 
you  will  not  continue  to  dwell  upon  Raymond's  cour- 
tesy to  a  stranger  in  such  a  way  as  you  have  done  ; 
but  answer  his  letter  kindly  and  without  delay." 

But  that  day  passed,  and  Bessie  neglected  to  write 
to  Raymond  ;  and  so  did  the  next,  as  well  as  several 
succeeding  days.  Mrs.  Jenkins  penned  a  kind  letter 
*to  her  sister,  and  her  mother,  who  came  to  spend  a 
few  days  with  her  at  this  time,  added  a  loving  post- 
script to  the  daughter  who  had  been  so  long  estranged 
from  her.  Mrs.  Jenkins  wished  to  inclose  her  mis- 
sive in  a  package  with  Bessie's  letter,  when  hers  was 
ready  to  send ;  but  upon  inquiry,  she  learned  that  her 
daughter  had  not  written,  or  even  commenced  a  let- 


144  BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND. 

ter.  Both  her  mother  and  grandmother  remonstrated 
with  Bessie  for  her  neglect,  and  endeavored  to  per- 
suade her  to  write.  For  some  days  they  were  unsuc- 
cessful in  their  efforts,  and  Bessie  contrived  to  let  the 
time  slip  away  without  even  taking  up  her  pen. 
.  "  Don't  you  intend  to  answer  Raymond's  kind  letter, 
my  grand-daughter  ?  "  asked  her  grandmother,  after 
waiting  impatiently,  day  after  day,  to  have  her  note 
on  the  way  to  Mrs.  Murray. 

"  There  is  n't  any  hurry  ;  he  will  be  able  to  prize  it 
more,  if  he  expects  it  some  time  before  it  reaches 
him." 

"  You  may  cause  him  to  expect  it  too  long  for  your 
own  happiness,  my  dear  girl,"  said  the  old  lady; 
"  take  the  advice  of  one  who  has  had  experience,  and 
don't  pervert  that  which  would  be  otherwise  a  comfort, 
to  a  sorrow." 

"Your  experience  could  never  have  been  just  like 
mine,  grandmother ;  I  think  I  know  how  to  manage 
with  Raymond  Philips  better  than  any  one  can  advise 
me." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Bessie,  be  careful  and  not  manage 
too  much  ;  if  you.  scorn  this  advice  now,  the  day  may 
come  when  you  will  wish  you  had  heeded  it." 

Neither  her  grandmother  nor  mother  could  influence 
her  to  write  ;  she  cared  not  that  her  friends  wished  to 
inclose  missives  that  would  carry  comfort  to  her 
afflicted  aunt.  Raymond  had  hurt  her  self-love,  and 
she  would  show  him  that  she  felt  hurt  at  his  daring  to 
write  in  a  "  strain  of  admiration  "  of  another,  when  she 
ought  to  be  all  in  all  to  him. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  was  obliged  to  send  the  letter  she  had 
written  to  her  sister,  to  Raymond,  and  she  penned  a 


BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND.  145 

little  note  to  accompany  it,  in  which  she  tried  to  apol- 
ogize for  Bessie's  not  writing  :  but  after  many  fruitless 
endeavors  to  think  of  something  to  say  that  would 
excuse  her  erring  daughter,  she  could  do  no  better 
than  inform  Raymond  that  Bessie  felt  indisposed  to 
writing,  although  she  hoped  he  would  soon  receive  an 
answer  to  his  last  kind  letter  to  her. 

"  Will  you  let  me  send  this,  without  any  word  from 
you,  to  Raymond,  Bessie  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"I've  no  message  for  him,"  was  the  unkind  reply 
of  the  daughter,  and  the  letter  was  mailed,  and  reached 
the  young  man,  who  read  a  portion  of  it  with  wonder 
and  pain. 

"Bessie  not  feel  like  writing  to  me,"  he  mentally 
ejaculated  ;  "  what  can  it  mean  ?  I  am  sure  I  have 
never  written  a  syllable  that  could  offend  her.  I  will 
sit  down  at  once  and  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  Mrs. 
Jenkins's  note,  and  entreat  Bessie  to  tell  me  what  has 
induced  her  to  feel  thus.  Would  she  were  less  a 
creature  of  impulse  ;  but,  poor  girl,  I  will  try  my  best 
to  comfort  her." 

Raymond  did  so,  and  wrote  long  and  tenderly,  too. 
He  strove  to  convince  Bessie  that  she  was  distrusting 
his  love  for  her,  when  she  concealed  from  him  any 
cause  of  sorrow,  and  he  besought  her,  in  touching 
strains,  to  write  to  him  without  delay,  and  tell  him  all 
her  heart. 

"  You  may  be  assured,  my  dear  girl,"  said  he  in 
closing,  "that  I  cannot  be  happy  when  I  know  you 
are  enduring  disquietude." 

This  letter  was  despatched,  and  Raymond  waited 
anxiously  for  an  answer. 
13 


116  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"It  is  a  pang  known  only  to  the  best,  to  be  injured,  well-deserving." 

.'"•  Bessie  was  little  moved  by  the  earnest  appeals  of 
Raymond  ;  she  had  become  so  much  absorbed  in  her 
own  selfish  feelings,  and  dwelt  so  constantly  upon  her 
fancied  wrongs,  that  she  was  poorly  prepared  to  write 
a  reply  to  his  missive.  The  foolish  girl  wished  it  had 
been  less  affectionate,  so  that  she  might  have  an  excuse 
for  the  indulgence  of  her  wrathful,  jealous  feelings. 
As  it  was,  she  contrived  to  construe  some  sentences 
of  the  letter,  so  as  to  adapt  them  to  her  case. 

'-'  Why,"  thought  Bessie,  "  does  he  seem  so  earnest 
to  aid  my  relatives  ?  He  does  n't  know  as  I  care 
much  about  them,  and  he  need  n't  trouble  himself  so 
much  for  my  sake  ;  he  knows  this,  or  ought  to  guess 
it,  at  least;  No,  he  does  n't  care  so  much  to  please 
me,  as  he  does  to  exert  his  gallantry  in  behalf  of  my 
handsome  cousin.  I  '11  write  to  him,  perhaps,  some- 
time, but  it  will  be  when  I  please.  I  am  not  so  par- 
ticular to  please  one  who  cares  so  much  for  others,  at 
the  risk  of  displeasing  me." 

Thus  the  poor  child  strove  to  think  she  had  reason 
to. ill-treat  one  of  the  best  of  friends.  This  last  letter 
of  Raymond's  she  decidedly  refused  to  show  to  any 
one,  or  even  to  read  portions  of  it  aloud,  in  hearing 
of  her  mother  or  grandmother.  Mrs.  Jenkins  was 
astonished  and  indignant  at  the  perversity  of  her 
daughter. 


BES61E    AND   RAYMOND.  117 

"  I  ought,  Bessie,  to  know  whether  it  contains  any- 
thing of  interest  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  when  her 
daughter  had  refused  to  tell  any  of  the  contents  of  the 
missive.  "Tell  me,  does  Raymond  think  he  can  con- 
vey my  letter  by  any  means  to  your  aunt  ?  " 

"  He  says  he  will  endeavor  to,  and  there  is  no  dan- 
ger  but  what  he  will  try  hard  enough,  while  there  is  a 
pretty  girl  to  meet  with,  if  he  succeeds.'' 

"  Fie,  my  daughter,  how  childish  you  make  yourself 
appear ;  I  would  rise  above  such  littleness,  and  over- 
come these  miserable  feelings,  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Clement,  Bessie's  grandmother. 

"If  I  were  you,  I  m  responded   the   grand- 

daughter, in  a  surly  tone  ;'  "  perhaps  you  would  think 
it  a  trifle  to  feel  that  some  one  beside  yourself  enjoyed 
the  kind  regards  of  a  person  who  has  promised  to  love 
you  better  than  all  the  world  beside." 

"  I  should  not  feel  that  this  was  so,  without  a  more 
substantial  cause  than  you  •have  at  present." 

"Every  heart  knows  its  own  bitterness,"  said 
Bessie,  sullenly. 

"  True,  but  some  hearts  create  their  own  bitterness, 
and  turn  the  sweets  of  life  to  gall.  I  fear  that  you  are 
doing  this  now,  and  because  I  love  you  I  tell  you  the 
truth,  my  dear  girl." 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  it  is  the  truth  you  have  spoken  to 
me,  grandmother,"  said  Bessie,  "  at  least  it  is  not  true 
that  I  have  not  cause  for  unhappiness." 

It  was  useless  to  talk  with  Bessie  upon  this  subject, 
and  her  friends  soon  desisted  from  their  persuasions. 
She  had  resolved  to  feel  aggrieved,  and  she  took  great 
pains  to  carry  her  resolve  into  execution.  It  grieved 
her  mother  that  she  neglected  Raymond,  yet  that  lady 


148  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

knew  not  what  to  do.  in  order  to  influence  her  dauorh- 
ter's  mind  aright.  She  had  tried  persuasion  without 
avail  :  then  ridicule,  but  to  no  better  purpose.  Sever- 
ity was  merited  by  the  obstinate  girl,  she  well  knew, 
and  she  was  half  tempted  to  write  to  Raymond,  and 
ask  him  to  try  the  effect  of  it  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  was  tried  severely  by  the  stand  her 
daughter  had  taken,  in  more  than  one  way,  for  it  cut 
her  off  from  free  intercourse  with  the  only  one  whom 
she  could  rely  upon  to  communicate  with  her  far  dis- 
tant sister.  "  I  must  write  to  Eaymond,  much  as  I 
feel  ashamed  to  let  him  know  the  reason  I  am  obliged 
to  resort  to  such  a  measure,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  her 
mother,  in  presence  of  Bessie,  when  a  week  had 
elapsed  since  the  second  letter  of  the  young  man  had 
been  received. 

"You  need  n't  do  any  such  thing,  mother,"  said  the 
daughter,  "  I  am  going  to  write  myself,  but  Raymond 
wont  be  any  too  glad  to  get  my  letter,  that  is  certain." 

"  Why,  Bessie  dear,"  remarked  Mrs.  Clement,  '■'  you 
would  not  surely  be  guilty  of  writing  an  unpleasant 
letter  to  a  common  acquaintance  situated  as  our  youug 
friend  is  at  present.  Only  think,  he  is  away  from 
home  and  most  of  the  comforts  of  life,  perilling  his  own 
noble  life,  to  support  the  blessed  institutions  of  our 
country.  You  cannot  certainly  be  guilty  of  sending 
a  missive  to  him  that  will  not  cheer  his  heart." 

"  He  had  no  need  to  leave  his  home,  and  those  he 
loved  :  '  tis  his  own  fault  if  he  has  made  his  condition 
uncomfortable.     I  shall  write  as  I  feel." 

Such  was  the  answer  irreverently  given  by  Bessie 
to  her  excellent  grandparent.  We  must  remark  here, 
that  we  have  endeavored  to  weave  our  story  so  as  not 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  149 

to  have  particular  characters  recognized,  yet  it  will 
not  he  our  fault  if  some  of  our  readers  think  we  have 
brought  them  before  the  public. 

The  grandmother  made  no  reply,  save  by  heaving 
a  deep  sigh  that  would  not  be  restrained.  Mrs.  Jen- 
kins was  silent  until  a  few  moments  had  past,  at 
the  end  of  which  Bessie  retired  to  her  own  room. 
When  Mrs.  Jenkins*  found  herself  alone  with  her 
mother,  she  gave  vent  to  her  long-restrained  feelings 
in  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  I  feel  that  as  I  have  sowed,  so  I  am  now  reaping," 
said  she,  as  soon  as  she  could  control  her  emotions  so 
as  to  articulate.  "  I  have  done  wrong  by  my  daughter, 
for  I  have  indulged  her  to  her  hurt,  and  made  her  sel- 
fish and  exacting.  I  have  never  realized  that  this  was 
the  case  until  recently.  0,  may  I  be  forgiven,"  con- 
tinued this  unhappy  mother,  "  and  Bessie  brought  to 
see  herself  as  she  is,  before  she  shall  have  estranged 
from  her  one  of  the  noblest  hearts  that  ever  beat." 

"Amen,  I  repeat,  amen  to  that,"  responded  Mrs. 
Clement. 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  "I  must  per- 
form my  duty  to  my  misguided  child,  if  I  can  but 
ascertain  what  that  duty  is." 

"I  do  not  see  that  you  can  do  anything  to  benefit 
Bessie,  besides  making  her  case  a  subject  of  prayer, 
and  evincing  your  disapprobation  of  her  course  :  then 
you  must  leave  her  with  God,  who  can  subdue  even 
the  most  perverse  will." 

While  her  friends  were  conversing  thus,  Bessie  was 
busy  in  writing  a  letter  to  Raymond.  .  She  had  slept 
quite  a  number  of  nights  over  the  letters  she  had 
received  from  this  friend,  that  had  aroused  her  anger, 


150  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

and  yet  it  cooled  not.  Heedless  of  the  admonitions 
of  those  who  loved  her,  she  wrote  in  an  angry; 
injured,  jealons  strain,  to  Raymond,  in  reply  to  his 
affectionate  letter  :  then,  without  allowing  her  mother 
to  see  what  she  had  written,  or  asking  for  any  message 
from  her,  she  hastily  enveloped,  sealed,  and  directed 
it ;  then,  throwing  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  she  hur- 
ried to  the  Post  Office,  and  having  deposited  her 
letter,  called  upon  an  acquaintance  and  remained  until 
evening.  She  did  not  see  her  mother  until  the  follow- 
ing day,  and  that  friend  did  not  suspect  what  her 
daughter  had  done.  Great,  therefore,  was  the  surprise 
of  Mrs.  Jenkins  when,  in  a  little  more  than  a  week 
from  this  time,  she  received  a  letter  written  by  Ray- 
mond, in  which  was  inclosed  a  note  for  Bessie,  also 
one  from  Mrs.  Murray. 

Raymond  very  respectfully  addressed  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
and  stated  that  he  could  but  feel  thankful  that  he  had 
been  made  a  minister  of  comfort  to  her  afflicted  rela- 
tives, even  if  his  acts  should  be  misconstrued,  and 
that  result  in  the  destruction  of  his  fondest  earthly 
hopes.  One  thought  sustained  him,  although  his 
heart  was  saddened  by  the  thought  that  he  had  been 
misunderstood  by  one  he  loved,  and  had  entrusted 
with  his  earthly  happiness,  and  that  thought  alone 
gave  him  courage  ;  it  was,  that  he  had  acted  from  prin- 
ciple.    He  had  endeavored  to  obey  the  golden  rule. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  did  not  ask  to  see,  or  hear  read,  the 
contents  of  the  note  her  daughter  had  received.  She 
watched  Bessie  closely,  and  she  could  easily  discern 
the  truth. 

"Raymond,  I  think,  has  resented  the  neglect  of 
Bessie/'  said  she  to  her  mother,  the  day  after  the  note 
had  been  given  her. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  151 

"I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  he  has,"  an- 
swered M.V&.  Clement,  "for  she  seems  really  troubled 
now :  it  may  be  she  will  write  at  this  time,  and  answer 
three  missives  at  once." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  replied  to  her  letter,  and  again  asked 
her  daughter  if  she  would  send  a  note  with  her  letter. 

"  I  shall  not  write  again  to  Raymond  ;  he  doesn't 
wish  me  to." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Bessie  ?  " 

"  Because  he  says  it  will  be  better  that  our  engage- 
ment be  suspended  awhile,  so  that  I  can  learn  to  view 
things  in  a  different  light." 

"How  could  he  learn  anything  about  the  light  in 
which  you  see  things ;  has  any  one  written  to  him, 
think  you  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  myself  in  a  letter,  last  week  ;  but  I 
did  n't  think  he  would  be  so  serious  over  it." 

"  Oh,  Bessie,  what  have  you  done  ?  "  exclaimed  her 
mother. 

The  daughter  answered  not,  but  hastened  from  the 
room.  The  perusal  of  the  letter  that  Bessie  so  madly 
penned,  was  like  a  poisoned  arrow  to  the  heart  of 
Raymond.  It  struck  deep,  very  deep,  because  he  felt 
it  was  so  entirely  undeserved.  His  reply  to  it  was 
very  brief,  for  he  felt  that 


-"words  were  idle; 


Words  from  him  were  vainer  still," 

and  he  wrote  only  a  short  note,  in  which  he  kindly 
told  Bessie  that  she  wronged  him,  but  that  it  would 
be  well  for  their  interests  to  be  separated,  at  least  for 
a  time.  Should  she  ever  understand  his  motives  of 
action,  the  case  would  be  different;  until  that  time,  she 


152  .  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

might  be  sure  of  his  friendship  ;  communication  with 
each  other  was  useless,  and  had  better  end.  Bessie 
felt,  when  she  read  the  note,  that  she  had  risked  too 
much  when  she  sent  him  that  letter,  so  full  of 
reproach.  In  her  heart,  she  wished  she  had  been  influ- 
enced by  her  friends,  yet  pride  forUade  the  acknowl- 
edgment of  these  feelings.  Gladly  would  she  have 
replied  to  the  last  note,  could  she  believe  that  Ray- 
mond would  care  to  receive  a  missive  from  her  under 
existing  circumstances.  She  felt  that  he  was  angry 
with  her,  from  principle,  yet  she  was  too  proud  to 
confess  this  truth,  even  to  herself. 

Raymond,  too,  suffered  greatly.  He  blamed  him- 
self for  having  helped  to  strengthen  Bessie  in  her  ex- 
acting feelings.  He  reviewed  the  past  with  pain  on 
account  of  his  having  been  an  accomplice  with  one  in 
wrong  doing,  whom  he  was  under  sacred  obligations 
to  influence  aright.  Bitter  was  the  thought  that  Bes- 
sie and  himself  were  to  be  as  common  acquaintances 
to  each  other ;  still,  he  determined  that  it  should  be 
so,  for  it  would  be  unkind  in  him  to  pass  over  without 
reproof,  the  manifestations  of  evil  temper  which  Bes- 
sie had  repeatedly  given  him. 

He  thought  of  a  future  for  this  girl  whom  he  de- 
votedly loved,  darkened  by  the  indulgence  of  base 
passion,  and  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  what  it  might 
be.  "  I  must  help  her  to  govern  herself,  if  I  can  ;  if 
she  is  really  attached  to  me,  a  little  decision  on  my 
part  will  benefit  her."  And,  although  a  pang  shot 
through  his  heart  as  he  thus  reasoned,  he  continued 
firm  in  his  resolve  to  cease  indulging  Bessie  to  her 
hurt. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  153 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  Be  ye  long-suffering  and  courageous;  abide  the  will  of  Heaven. 
God  is  on  your  side ;  all  things  are  tenderly  remembered." 

Gloomy  days  dawned  and  closed  upon  Mrs.  Murray, 
while  she  remained  a  prisoner  in  her  own  home.  Her 
husband  did  not  remain  long  away,  before  he  returned 
to  seek  Edgar,  anew.  He  did  not,  however,  deign  to 
speak  to  either  his  wife  or  daughter,  although  they 
sat  at  the  table  with  him,  and  he  saw  them  frequently 
on  various  occasions.  Clara  ventured  to  address  her 
father  when  he  first  returned  home,  but  was  repulsed 
by  his  stern  silence,  and  did  not  attempt  to  do  so 
again.  Mrs.  Murray  wished  to  speak  to  him,  yet 
dared  not.  His  stay  was  not  long,  and  he  seemed 
perplexed  in  regard  to  the  absence  of  his  son.  His 
wife  pitied  him  from  her  inmost  soul ;  how  she  longed 
to  see  him  humanized,  so  that  she  could  rush  to  his 
arms  and  weep  upon  his  bosom.  ♦The  affection  of  her 
children  was  a  solace  to  her  bleeding  heart ;  yet  her 
nature  yearned  for  a  stronger  love,  a  love  to  protect 
her,  as  well  as  soothe  her  sorrow.  But  such  a  bless- 
ing was  not  allowed  her. 

The  departure  of  Colonel  Murray  from  his  home 
was  a  relief  to  his  wife  and  daughter,  notwithstand- 
ing he  had  tightened  the  bars  of  their  prison  ere  he 
left.  He  had  questioned  every  servant,  and  he  was  sure 
that  he  could  find  out  all  the  truth  by  some  of  them  ; 
of  others,  he  was  less  sure.  He  was  afraid  to  trust 
implicitly  in  Hannah  or  Sam  ;  he  therefore  set  others 


154  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

to  watch  them.  He  could  not  find  out  by  Sam, 
whether  the  Yankee  officer  had  called  at  his  house  in 
his  absence,  or  not ;  for  that  servant  delighted  to 
tease  his  master,  and,  therefore,  gave  very  evasive 
replies  to  all  questions  concerning  that  point. 

"  I  asked  you,  you  black  dog,  if  that  d — d  Yankee 
has  been  here  since  I  went  away?  " 

"Wall,  I  telled,  massa." 

"  What  did  you  tell  me,  you  rascal  ?  " 

"  I  telled  ye  as  I  could  n't  say  he  had,  massa." 

"  Well,  has  n't  he  been  here  ?  " 

"  'Pears  like  he  haint  been  about  these  parts  lately. 
Specs  he  's  afeared  to  come  ;  mebbe  he  's  hearn  the 
crack  of  massa's  pistol ;  golly  !  don't  wonder  he  stay 
'way." 

Hannah,  when  questioned,  replied  frankly  that  she 
had  not  seen  him.  The  other  servants  protested  that 
nobody  had  been  there  but  Mr.  Smith  and  a  man  who 
came  with  him  ;  and  as  Mr.  Smith  declared  that  all 
had  gone  on  right,  the  Colonel  was  easy  on  that  point. 
Yet  there  was  something  in  the  expression  of  Han- 
nah's countenance*  that  boded  evil  to  his  jealous 
mind  ;  and  for  that  reason  he  set  a  watch  upon  her 
actions,  and  a  double  guard  about  his  wife  and 
daughter. 

"  How  long,  0,  how  long  shall  we  be  obliged  to 
live  in  this  way?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Murray,  as  she 
wrung  her  hands  in  agony,  one  morning,  a  short  time 
subsequent  to  the  second  departure  of  her  husband. 
This  poor  woman  felt  herself  cast  out,  and  forsaken  of 
all.  The  habitual  insolence  of  Smith  she  could  have 
borne,  for  she  did  not  expect  anything  better  of  such 
a  tool,  as  he  was  degraded  to  ;   but  there  were  those 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  155 

who  had  treated  her  with  seeming  respect  heretofore, 
who,  since  the  stand  her  husband  had  taken  in  regard 
to  ber,  jeered  at  her  whenever  they  saw  her  at  a  win- 
dow or  door,  as  they  passed  her  house. 

Clara  was  the  subject  of  like  treatment  ;  yet  her 
spirit  was  naturally  too  elastic  to  be  easily  crushed. 

"  Don't  despond/'  said  she  to  her  mother,  in  an- 
swer to  the  question  she,  in  her  distress,  had  almost 
unconsciously  asked.  "  I  am  waiting  patiently  for 
the  next  violent  thunder  shower  we  are  to  have  in  the 
night." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  do  then  ?  "  inquired  the 
mother,  interrupting  her. 

"  Get  so  far  within  the  Union  lines,  that  it  will  not 
be  easy  for  secession  friends  to  reach  us.  We  must 
be  very  brave,  mother  ;  I  know  it  will  seem  terrible  to 
expose  ourselves  to  the  warring  elements,  but  '  the 
lightning's  flash  and  the  thunder's  roar,  will,  on  some 
night,  surely  be  welcome  to  me,  because  I  know  there 
is  not  a  servant  about  the  premises  but  will  fear  to  go 
abroad  during  a  tempest." 

Mrs.  Murray  shuddered  ;  she  had  always  been 
exceedingly  timid  during  a  thunder-shower,  and  the 
thought  of  going  abroad  at  such  a  time,  with  only  her 
daughter,  without  a  servant,  appalled  her  greatly. 
Clara  saw  her  mother's  distress,  and  strove  to  inspire 
her  heart  with  courage. 

"  Don't  feel  so  troubled  about  it,  mother  ;  we  shall 
not  be  the  first  persons  who  have  been  out  in  a  storm. 
I  am  not  afraid  for  myself,  at  all ;  if  you  will  only  be 
courageous,  we  shall  do  nicely." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  brave,  my  daughter,  but  I  am  the 
veriest  coward  in  the  world,  I  know." 

"  We  shall  have  the  cowardice  all  washed  out  of  us 


156  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

before  we  reach  "Washington,  mother.  I  have  planned 
everything*,  so  we  can  get  away  well  enough,  if  a  heavy 
storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  only  comes  at  the  right 
time.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  Hannah  got  a  pass  for 
us  before  father  came  home,  for  she  would  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  get  away  now,  to  go  to  the  camp.  I  hope  we 
shall  be  able  to  keep  ourselves  out  of  sight  of  any  but 
Federals,  until  we  can  find  Lieutenant  Philips  ;  then  I 
am  sure  we  need  not  fear." 

"But,  Clara,  it  may  be  that  we  have  not  funds 
enough  to  take  us  through  to  our  friends." 

"  Don't  be  concerned  about  that,  my  dear  mother  ; 
I  have  laid  aside  money  for  some  time,  for  I  have  been 
looking  for  something  '  to  happen/  as  Hannah  says 
sometimes,  and  I  knew  that  if  we  should  ever  need  to 
go  from  home,  as  so  many  people  have  been  obliged 
to,  that  money  would  be  needful  to  help  us  along." 

"You  are  a  thoughtful  girl,  my  daughter,  and  a 
great  comfort  to  your  mother  in  her  grief." 

Clara  was  greatly  moved  at  this  affectionate  assur- 
ance of  her  mother,  that  she  was  gilding  the  dark 
cloud  that  enveloped  that  loved  parent.  She  wept  in 
silence  for  some  minutes,  and  then  affectionately 
entwining  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck,  she 
kissed  her ;  then,  rising  and  wiping  the  tears  from  her 
face,  said  with  animation  — 

"  I  am  so  glad,  my  dear  mother,  that  we  can  com- 
fort each  other." 

"  So  am  I,"  was  the  rejoinder,  uttered  with  a  voice 
choked  by  strong  emotion. 

"  Do  you  suppose  Hannah  will  be  willing  to  go  out. 
during  a  tempest,  Clara  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Murray. 

"I  think  she  would  go  if  you  wished  her  to,  but  I 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  157 

do  not  see  that  she  will  be  needed,  or  at  least,  how  we 
can  afford  to  take  her  along  with  us." 

'*  I  shall  hate  to  leave  the  good  soul  behind,  very 
much  indeed,  although  I  suppose  we  could  do  without 
her.  I  waited  upon  myself  before  my  marriage,  I 
can  do  so  again.  But  I  love  Hannah  as  a  friend,  as 
well  as  a  faithful  servant.  Her  piety  entitles  her  to 
my  warm  affection." 

"  I  love  my  dear  old  nurse  too  well  to  be  separated 
from  her  willingly,  yet  I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave 
her/'  said  Clara,  speaking  in  a  sad  tone. 

"Can't  we  contrive,  through  our  young  friend,  to 
have  Hannah  sent  on  after  us  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Murray. 

M  What  a  bright  thought,  my  dear  mother  ;  I  will 
try  my  best  to  have  this  accomplished,  for  I  know 
Hannah  is  desirous  to  go  with  us." 

Hannah  was  indeed  so  anxious  to  go  with  her  mis- 
tress and  her  '  dear  young  lady/  as  she  termed  Clara 
when  speaking  of  her  to  Lieutenant  Philips,  that  she 
had  sought  that  young  gentleman  in  his  quarters,  and 
begged  him  to  help  her  go  after  Mrs.  Murray  and  her 
daughter,  if  they  should  ever  be  obliged  to  go  away 
and  leave  her  behind.  Eaymond  had  promised  the 
affectionate  woman  to  do  all  in  his  power  tp  assist  her, 
should  it  ever  be  necessary  for  her  to  need  such  assist- 
ance. Clara  had  informed  Raymond  that,  owing  to 
adverse  circumstances,  her  mother  and  herself  would 
be  obliged  to  ask  his  protection  as  far  as  Washington, 
if  he  could  meet  them  by  the  roadside,  near  his  camp, 
on  the  first  stormy  night,  for  it  must  be  on  such  an 
occasion  that  they  would  be  obliged  to  leave  their 
home. 

Raymond  would  have  felt  some  surprise  at  the 
14 


158  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

statements  made  by  Clara  in  her  note,  had  he  not  been 
prepared  for  anything  that  might  occur,  by  the  dis- 
closures made  by  Edgar's  appearing  before  him  one 
morning,  a  few  weeks  previous,  and  begging  to  be 
sheltered  from  pursuit,  and  sent  North  to  his  aunt  or 
grandmother,  whose  names  he  had  learned  of  his 
mother. 

"  Then  you  are  Mrs.  Murray's  son,"  said  Raymond. 

"I  am,  sir." 

"  Do  you  feel  willing  to  tell  me  why  you  wish  to 
leave  your  mother  and  sister,  and  go  away  ?  " 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  separated  from  them,  sir,  and 
that  is  the  reason  why  I  have  come  to  you  to  make 
this  request.-  I  know  that  my  mother  will  reward  you, 
if  you  will  only  help  me." 

"I  wish  not  a  reward,  my  dear  boy,  but  you  will 
be  separating  yourself  from  your  mother  and  sister  if 
you  go  to  the  North." 

"  True,  sir  ;  but  only  for  a  time.  Had  I  not  taken 
French  leave  of  my  home  this  morning,  I  was  to  have 
been  separated  from  them,  perhaps  forever ;  and 
worse,  too.  I  was  to  have  been  carried  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Southern  army,  and  that  would  have 
killed  my  mother,  for  she  does  n't  love  to  have  any 
one  take  up  arms  against  the  good  old  stars  and 
stripes." 

"I  hope  you, will  never  be  left  to  do  that,  my 
boy,"  said  Raymond,  who  was  greatly  interested  in 
Edgar,  and  resolved  to  seek  an  opportunity  as  soon 
as  possible,  to  send  him,  under  the  care  of  some  relia- 
ble person,  to  Oak  Dale.  Edgar  had  concealed  some 
necessary  articles  of  clothing  about  him  when  he  left 
home,  and  he  had  money,  with  which  he  bought  a 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  159 

comfortable  change  of  linen.  His  new  friend  placed 
him  in  the  home  of  a  good  friend  of  his  own,  who 
gladly  consented  to  keep  him  until  he  could  go  to  his 
friends.  An  opportunity  presented,  soon  after  Ray- 
mond had  mailed  his  last  letter  to  Mrs.  Jenkins.  He 
informed  her  in  the  missive,  that  it  was  probable  a 
lad,  a  son  of  her  sister,  might  visit  her  erelong, 
though  he  could  not  tell  her  at  what  time  she  might 
expect  him,  as  he  was  waiting  for  company. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  marvelled  at  these  tidings  ;  it  seemed 
to  h*r  so  strange  that  a  child  like  him  should  come 
without  his  mother,  to  relatives  who  were  entire 
strangers  to  him. 

Mrs.  Clement  thought  it  spoke  volumes  in  dis- 
closing the  trials  of  her  long-absent  daughter.  Bessie 
was  indifferent  upon  the  subject  of  her  Southern 
friends  visiting  her  home,  and  said  little  about  them. 
Mrs.  Clement  was  rejoiced  at  the  thought  of  seeing 
any  of  her  daughter's  family,  and  longed  to  see  her 
dear  grandchild.  Mrs.  Jenkins  also  expected  Edgar 
with  some  impatience. 


160  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  The  furnace  of  affliction  may  be  fierce,  but  if  it  refineth  thy  soul,  the 
good  of  each  meek  thought  shall  outweigh  years  of  torment." 

Had  Mrs.  Murray  known  how  comfortably  Edgar 
had  been  disposed  of,  for  the  time,  it  would  have 
saved  her  many  a  sad  hour.  She  heard,  as  sopn  as 
word  could  be  sent  by  Hannah,  that  all  was  right  in 
regard  to  his  reaching  Lieutenant  Philips.  More  she 
could  not  know  at  that  time  ;  it  was  very  difficult  for 
her  to  have  communication  with  Raymond,  without 
exciting  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  those  about  her. 
Her  whole  soul  revolted  at  the  idea  of  acting  a  false- 
hood, and  sometimes  this  feeling  so  oppressed  her,  that 
she  faltered  in  her  purpose  of  leaving  her  home  pri- 
vately, and  half  resolved  to  go  boldly,  in  broad  day- 
light. But  Clara  set  before  her  the  trouble  it  might 
cause  herself,  besides  the  amount  of  sin  it  would  be  a 
means  of  others  committing,  by  the  free  use  of  profane 
language,  if  no  outrage  should  be  committed  against 
them ;  and  she  consented  to  be  guided  by  her  daugh- 
ter, and  yield  to  her  wishes,  until  this  terrible  ordeal 
should  have  passed. 

Life,  at  this  period  in  the  life  of  Mrs.  Murray  and 
her  daughter,  was  a  state  of  peculiar  suspense.  All 
their  hopes  of  future  comfort  hung  upon  the v most 
trying  uncertainty.  Should  not  a  storm  come  at  a 
time  favorable  to  their  plans,  they  scarcely  knew 
what  they  could  do.     Hannah  seemed  possessed  with 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  1G1 

the  thought  that  something  was  going  to  happen  ; 
she  expressed  this  fear  several  times,  as  she  was  busy 
near  her  mistress,  and  at  length  Mrs.  Murray  was  con- 
strained to  ask  her  why  she  thought  so.  On  this  oc- 
casion she  seemed  oppressed  with  sadness,  which  was 
not  usual  with  her,  for  her  temper  was  one  of  the  sun- 
niest kind.     . 

In  reply  to  the  interrogation  of  her  mistress,  she 
said,  "  I 's  'bleeged  to  think  so,  missus  ;  I 's  heered 
strange  talk  when  I 's  been  gone  out  'round,  and  so 
has  Sam.  'Pears  like,  missus,  Clary,  is  n't  safe  here. 
I  wish  ye  's  off  somewhar." 

"What  have  you  heard,  Hannah?  tell  me  all  you 
know ;  but  first  tell  me  if  you  would  like  to  go  to  the 
North.  If  I  should  go  there,  would  you  follow  me  if 
you  could  ?  " 

'Deed  I  would,  missus  ;  and  it  '11  kill  me  if  anything 
happens  to  you  and  Miss  Clary,  'fore  ye  gits  away. 
Can't  ye  go  to-night,  some  'ow  ?  I 's  feered  for  ye 
all  the  time." 

Well  the  poor  creature  might  fear  for  those  she  so 
dearly  loved,  for  she  had  witnessed  great  wrongs 
that  had  been  inflicted  and  endured  for  opinion's  sake ; 
and  she  had  heard  the  name  of  her  mistress  spoken 
by  coarse,  profane  lips,  and  threats  of  violence  uttered 
by  such,  as  in  days  of  moral  sunshine  at  the  South, 
had  never  polluted  her  home  with  their  brutish 
presence. 

Mrst  Murray  endeavored  to  calm  the  mind  of  the 
faithful  nurse,  by  promising  to  get  to  her  friends  in 
Massachusetts  as  soon  as  she  possibly  could.  Yet 
her  own  fears  refused  to  be  quieted  ;  she  feared  the 
worst,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  gratitude  and 
14* 


162  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

pleasure,  that  late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  she 
heard  the  sound  of  distant  thunder.  The  atmosphere 
had  been  sultry  all  day.  As  the  curtain  of  night  fell 
over  her  dwelling,  and  the  lightning's  fitful  flashes 
gleamed  more  and  more  brightly,  Mrs.  Murray  trem- 
bled. Conflicting  emotions  filled  her  breast.  The 
thought  of  exposing  herself  to  the  fury  of  the  ele- 
ments abroad,  sent  pallor  to  her  cheek,  and  filled  her 
heart  with  fear  ;  yet  a  more  dreadful  uncertainty  hung 
over  her  future,  if  she  remained  at  home.  She  felt 
sure  that  Hannah  had  not  told  her  all  she  knew,  and 
the  thought  of  being  obliged  to  endure  what  some  of 
her  Union  friends  had  endured,  was  agonizing  to  her 
soul. 

Mrs.  Murray  sat  alone  for  a  time  while  Clara  was 
attending  to  many  little  matters  of  importance,  that 
were  connected  with  their  anticipated  journey.  The 
storm  gradually  increased  in  violence  ;  the  sky  grew 
darker,  and  the  lightning  quivered  across  the  black- 
ness, presenting  a  scene  of  awful  sublimity  to  the  eye 
of  such  as  love  to  watch  the  clouds  when  the  grand 
artillery  of  heaven  is  sounding  through  the  air.  But 
Mrs.  Murray  was  unmindful  of  all  the  grandeur  of  such 
a  scene.  A  choice  of  evils  was  set  before  her,  and  she 
chose  the  least.  Like  king  David,  she  preferred  to 
fall  directly  into  the  hands  of  God,  in  her  calamity, 
rather  than  receive  chastening  through  the  instrumen- 
tality of  her  fellow-beings.  Mrs.  Murray  looked  from 
her  window,  not  as  in  by-gone  days  she  .had  done 
many  times,  to  see  if  the  cloud  containing  electricity 
was  not  passing  over,  but  to  see  if  all  was  still  about 
her  premises.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Smith  had  been  at 
her  house  early  in  the  evening,   and  that  he  had  left 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  1G3 

at  an  early  hour,  for  his  own  residence.  She  did  not 
fear  his  return  on  any  account,  because  she  was  aware 
that  he  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  are  so  greatly  ter- 
rified by  lightning,  as  to  be  made  sick  by  a  storm  such 
as  was  then  raging. 

All  was  quiet  about  the  house,  too,  and  the  unfor- 
tunate lady  was  glad,  as  she  turned  from  the  window, 
to  see  her  daughter  enter  the  room  with  two  India 
rubber  blankets  in  her  hand. 

"Mother/7  said  Clara,  with  an  expression  of  con- 
cern upon  her  countenance,  which  she  strove  in  vain 
to  hide,  "  we  may  well  bless  God  for  this  tempest, 
terrible  as  it  is,  and  we  must  hasten  to  avail  ourselves 
of  the  protection  it  will  give  us  from  something  more 
trying,  than  going  out  at  such  a  time.  But  for  this 
rain  we  should  at  this  hour  have  been  suffering  at  the 
hands  of  a  lawless  mob,  composed  of  some  of  the 
basest  of  men.  But  I  must  n't  tell  you  now,  we  must 
be  gone." 

"  Suppose  that  young  man  cannot  meet  us  ?  " 

"  Don't  suppose  any  such  thing,"  said  the  daughter, 
distressed  at  the  bare  possibility  of  such  a  misfor- 
tune, "but  let  us  go  forward  and  hope  all  will  be 
well." 

While  this  conversation  was  being  held,  these  two 
adventurous  females  had  prepared,  in  the  greatest 
haste,  to  leave  a  home  blighted  by  the  foul  reptile, 
treason. 

"  Take  your  overshoes,  mother,  I  will  assist  you  to 
put  them  on.  Hannah  wished  to  help  us,  but  I  was 
afraid  she  would  give  way  to  her  feelings,  and  make  a 
noise  that  would  disturb  and  arouse  the  rest  of  the 
household.     Let  me  throw  this  rubber  cloth  over  your 


164  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

shoulders,  mother  ;  there,  now,  let  us  go  out  softly. 
Only  hear  that  peal  of  thunder,  how  tremendous  ;  and 
sent  just  in  time  to  prevent  our  being  heard,  if  any  one 
had  been  listening.  Thank  Heaven,  we  are  on  our 
way." 

"Amen,"  replied  Mrs.  Murray,  in  a  voice  made 
tremulous  by  excitement.  The  pair  reached  the  high- 
way, and  walked  toward  the  Union  Camp,  as  rapidly  as 
it  was  possible  for  Mrs.  Murray  to  walk,  and  faster 
than  she  had  supposed  she  could  travel.  They  went 
on  in  silence.  0,  what  a  walk  was  that,  for  two 
delicate  women  to  take  alone. 

Don't  let  any  secession  sympathizer  throw  aside  this 
book,  as  his  eye  rests  upon  this  description  of  suffer- 
ing inflicted  upon  innocent  women  for  their  love  to 
the  dear  old  Government  established  by  our  fathers. 
It  is  but  a  part  of  the  sad  truth  we  might  tell  you,  for 
it  is  true,  that  crimes  too  horrible  to  describe  have  been 
committed  out  of  hatred  to  the  flag  of  our  country  by 
those  who  have  been  long  protected  and  blessed  under 
that  signal  so  dear  to  loyal  hearts.  "We  write  not  in 
malice  ;  we  love  our  Southern  brethren,  but  we  will 
not  keep  back  the  truth,  to  please  such  as  sympathize 
with  the  dark  brutal  ^cts  sanctioned  by  their  bogus 
government.  Neither  do  we  feel  moved  when  we  hear 
the  friends  of  traitors  say  of  facts  laid  before  them 
which  they  do  not  wish  to  believe,  "  that  is  false- 
hood." We  tell  the  truth,  yet  not  the  whole  truth, 
in  regard  to  the  ill  treatment  of  Union  people  at  the 
South  ;  and  we  challenge  the  whole  host  of  secession 
sympathizers,  to  prove  that  we  have  sought  out  ex- 
treme cases. 

Yes,  what  a  walk  for  that  mother  and  daughter  to 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  105 

take  alone.  The  rain  had  poured  in  torrents  for  some 
time,  and  the  road  had  been  made  exceedingly  mud- 
dy, ere  they  set  out  on  their  desperate  adventure. 

<<  Daughter,  I've  been  thinking  we  asked  a  great 
deal  of  thaf  young  man,  when  we  requested  him  to 
watch  for  us,  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

"  I  know  we  did,  mother,  but  if  I  have  judged  that 
young  Yankee  aright,  he  is  not  a  stranger  to  self-sacri- 
fice. °He  may  be  prevented  by  circumstances  he  can- 
not  control,  still,  I  believe  he  will  meet  us  if  he  can/' 

These  few  words  were  spoken  in  a  low  tone  of  voice 
as  the  troubled  pair  went  on,  wading  at  times  in  mud 
so  adhesive  in  its  nature,  that  they  found  it  difficult  to 
lift  their  tired  feet  out  of  it ;  and  as  the  .darkness  pre- 
vented them  from  discerning  the  many  little  rivulets 
created  by  the  pouring  rain,  they  often  found  their  feet 
and  ankles  submerged  in  water.  Occasionally,  a  gleam 
of  lightning  would  reveal  some  object  in  their  path- 
way ,°the  sight  of  which  would  fill  their  souls  with 
dread,  and  then  they  would  welcome,  as  a  guardian 
angel,  the  black  darkness  of  their  way.  They  spoke 
seldom,  for  the  hearts  of  both  were  too  full  for  ut- 

Once  Clara  stepped  into  a  hole  and  plunged  head- 
long. Her  mother  was  wellmgh  paralyzed  with  fright, 
when  she  knew  that  she  had  fallen  ;  see  her  she  could 
not,  but  in  a  few  moments  the  loving  daughter  was 
upon  her  feet  again,  and,  extending  the  hand  that  was 
not  covered  with  mud  to  her  parent,  said,  in  a  cheerful 
tone,   "I   am   glad   it   was    not   you   that  fell,  dear 

mother." 

-  Dear  child,"  was  all  the  reply  Mrs.  Murray  could 

make. 


166  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Don't  get  discouraged,  mother,  mine,"  said  Clara, 
11  we  have  come  over  the  worst  of  the  way  now,  and 
we  shall  be  able  to  rest  before  long." 

A  deep  sigh  was  heaved  by  the  mother,  in  answer  to 
this  cheering  assertion.  Yet,  in  a  moment,  she  recol- 
lected herself,  and  felt  that  her  daughter's  heart  ought 
not  to  be  saddened  by  her.  "  You  're  a  noble  girl, 
Clara,  and  I  ought  to  be  grateful  that  I  have  your 
sympathy  and  assistance,  but  I  have  little  fortitude  ; 
I  will  pray  for  strength  to  endure  all  that  shall  be  laid 
upon  me,  without  murmuring." 

"  We  shall  be  carried  through  every  trial  as  Han- 
nah says,  if  we  look  to  the  right  source,  for  strength 
and  consolation  ;  so  let  us  be  cheerful,  for  then, 
mother,  we  shall  not  be  half  as  weary  with  our  hard- 
ships, as  we  shall  be,  if  our  spirits  are  depressed.  You 
know  Solomon  says,  '  the  spirit  of  a  man  can  bear  his 
infirmity,'  then  why  not  the  spirit  of  a  woman.  Let 
us  look  on  the  bright  side  of  our  troubles,  and  we  shall 
feel  better.  Only  think,  we  can  hope  soon  to  see  your 
friends,  and  to  sleep,  too,  where  we  shall  feel  safe  from 
enemies." 

"  That  is  a  pleasant  thought,  daughter  ;  I  will  not 
dwell  upon  my  trials  ;  how  near  are  we  to  the  Federal 
camp,  Clara,  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  do,  pretty  nearly  ;  and  I  think  we  are  within  sight 
of  it,  if  we  could  discern  objects." 

"How  can  I  be  sufficiently  thankful,  0  my  God," 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Murray.  "  It  really  refreshes  me,  to 
feel  that  we  are  so  near  friends." 

This  poor  midnight  wanderer  was  even  nearer  the 
goal  of  her  hopes  than  she  imagined.  The  camp  lay 
just  before  them. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  lf>7 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  On,  on,  on;  to  the  breach,  to  the  breach; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 
Stains  the  clear  radiance  of  eternity, 
Until  death  shiver  it  to  atoms." 

The  mother  and  daughter  would  have  passed  the 
place  where  they  wished  to  stop,  had  not  their  foot- 
steps been  arrested  by  a  pleasant  voice,  calling-, 
"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  They  could  not  recognize  it  as 
Raymond's,  having  heard  his  voice  so  little ;  yet, 
there  was  something  in  the  tone  that  inspired  confi- 
dence. They  stood  still  for  a  minute  or  more,  and 
both  mother  and  daughter  were  considering  what  to 
say  in  reply,  when  the  voice  called  again  ;  and  this 
time  it  seemed  approaching  them,  as  the  words,  "If 
it  is  any  one  needing  help,  fear  not  to  speak,"  sounded 
like  music,  to  the  ears  of  our  forlorn  travellers.  They 
then  felt  almost  sure  that  it  was  Raymond  who  ad- 
dressed them,  and  they  answered  his  welcome  saluta- 
tion, by  asking  if  it  was  Lieutenant  Philips  whom  they 
were  addressing. 

"  My  name  is  Philips, "  replied  he,  "and  I  think  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  conversing  with  Mrs.  Murray 
and  her  daughter,  although  the  darkness  prevents  my 
seeing  you." 

"  You  are  right  in  your  conjecture  ;  the  unfortunate 
women  you  expected,  are  here  to  tax  your  kindness," 
said  the  elder  lady. 


168  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Do  not,  I  entreat  you,  feel  that  it  is  a  trouble  to 
me  to  do  what  I  can  for  your  comfort.  The  fact 
alone,  that  you  felt  it  necessary  to  leave  your  elegant 
home,  and  come  here,  on  such  a  night  as  this,  is  rea- 
son enough  why  I  should  wish  to  aid  you.  But  the 
night  is  far  spent,  and  I  will  take  you  to  a  place  of 
refuge  at  once." 

The  ladies  were  obliged  to  walk  a  short  distance 
farther,  in  order  to  reach  a  house,  where  Raymond 
knew  they  would  be  kindly  cared  for.  He  was  sorry 
it  was  not  in  his  power  to  provide  a  carriage  to  trans- 
port them  thither  ;  but  when  he  told  them  his  regret 
on  this  account,  they  were  surprised  that  he  should 
have  even  thought  of  such  a  thing,  as  they  had  not. 
They  were  very  grateful  for  his  kind  protection,  and 
they  were  ready  now  to  see  the  tempest  abate  with- 
out terror.  The  lightning  gleamed  less  brightly 
now,  the  thunder  sounded  from  a  distance,  and  the 
rain  descended  gently.  The  sky  was  less  black,  yet 
there  was  nothing  visible  before  them,  as  they  went 
on.  Never  did  a  shipwrecked  mariner  feel  more  de- 
light at  beholding  a  friendly  sail  approaching,  than 
our  midnight  wanderers  experienced,  when  they  saw 
that  they  were  nearing  a  dwelliDg-house,  which  was 
made  visible  to  them  by  its  lighted  windows  ;  and 
they  were  told  by  Raymond  that  for  a  season,  they 
would  find  a  haven  beneath  its  roof. 

As  they  stood  upon  the  steps  at  Bloomdale  Place, 
Raymond  had  not  time  to  ring  for  admittance,  before 
a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  benevolent  expression, 
opened  the  door,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so,  "  What  a 
night  for  females  to  be  abroad  ;  please  enter,  without 
stopping  to  think  of  your  wet  garments,"  added  the 


DESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  1<)(J 

gentleman,  as  the  ladies  hesitated  on  account  of  their 
dripping  clothes:  "my  wife  has  a  good  fire  in  the 
sitting-room  to  dry  you,  so  don't  mind  tracking  the 
floor  a  little  ;  we  don't  mind  trifles  in  these  dark 
times." 

Thus  encouraged,  Mrs.  Murray  walked  into  the 
house,  followed  by  Clara,  and  was  met,  ere  she  had 
gone  the  length  of  the  hall,  by  the  mistress  of  that 
quiet,  hospitable  abode.  They  were  quickly  con- 
ducted to  a  room,  made  cheerful  by  a  blazing  fire,  and 
relieved  of  their  outside  garments.  The  rubber  cloth 
had  kept  their  shoulders  dry,  but  the  skirts  of  their 
dresses  were  exceedingly  wet.  Clara  had  worn ,  two 
pockets  that  she  had  filled  with  such  small  articles" 
as  might  be  carried  thus.  She  had  foreseen  that  a 
change  of  stockings  would  be  necessary,  and  had  pro- 
vided against  that  emergency  ;  but  for  a  change  of 
dress  she  was  obliged  to  depend  upon  the  kindness  of 
others. 

The  hostess  of  our  friends,  was  one  of  those  women 
one  cannot  see  without  being  attracted  towards  them, 
by  the  kindly,  loving  expression  of  their  countenance. 
Mrs.  Adams,  for  that  was  the  name  of  the  lady  who 
opened  her  door  so  readily  to  our  distressed  friends, 
was  not  one  whom  the  world  would  call  handsome  ;. 
still,  her  face  was  usually  bright  with  a  smile  of 
cheerfulness.  Sad  indeed  must  be  the  case  of  wretch- 
edness that  discouraged  her  efforts  to  make  it  better. 
No  outcast  that  applied  to  her  for  shelter  and  protec- 
tion was  ever  left  to  pass  on  without  experiencing 
her  kindness.  Her  heart  was  large  enough  to  em- 
brace the  whole  world,  and  her  strong  sympathy  was 
ready  to  share  the  sorrows  of  all  mankind. 
15 


170  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

An  occasion  like  that  presented  by  the  necessities 
of  Mrs.  Murray  and  her  daughter  was  suited  to  call 
forth  her  tenderest  sympathies.  Scarcely  had  Ray- 
mond mentioned  the  case  of  his  friends,  before  Mrs. 
Adams  proffered  her  assistance,  and  assured  him  of 
her  willingness  to  take  them  to  her  home,  and  lighten 
their  cares  and  sorrows  by  every  demonstration  of 
kindness  and  sympathy  in  her  power :  and  now  that  they 
were  beneath  her  roof,  she  cheerfully  sacrificed  rest 
and  personal  comfort  to  minister  to  them.  "  How 
glad  I  am  that  you  have  arrived  here  in  safety," 
said  she,  as  with  nimble  hands  she  removed  the  wet 
clothing  of  her  guests,  and  assisted  them  to  array 
themselves  in  garments  brought  from  her  own  ward- 
robe. 

"You  can  never  know  how  glad  and  thankful  we 
are  to  be  welcomed  so  kindly  to  your  house,"  said 
Mrs.  Murray  ;  "  I  feel  that  I  can  never  repay  your 
kindness." 

"  Don't  speak  of  what  I  do  ;  it  is  nothing  more  than 
I  ought  to.  But  how  you  tremble  ;  how  cold  you  are  ; 
your  mother  is  sinking  into  a  fainting  fit,  my  dear," 
said  she  hastily  to  Clara,  and  that  young  lady  turned 
and  looked  at  her  mother  just  as  she  sank,  faint  and 
exhausted,  upon  the  sofa.  The  overtaxed  nerves  of 
the  poor  lady  were  beginning  to  have  their  revenge. 

Mrs.  Murray  recovered  partially  from  the  swoon, 
but  was  not  able  to  leave  the  bed,  to  which  she  was 
borne,  in  the  arms  of  her  kind  attendants,  for  some 
weeks.  Clara's  youth  and  elasticity  15f  spirit  buoyed 
up  her  slender  frame.  She  suffered  greatly  from  wea- 
riness and  exhaustion,  yet  she  was  not  prostrated *by 
it,  even  for  a  day.     She  watched  by  her  mother  almost 


BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND.  171 

constantly,  but  she  was  nut  permitted  to  have  the 
entire  care  of  her,  for  good  Mrs.  Adams  was  jealous 
of  her  right  as  hostess,  because  she  well  knew  that 
Clara  needed  rest. 

"  You  must  rest,  my  child,  for  your  mother's 
sake  as  well  as  your  own,"  said  she,  when  the  daugh- 
ter was  one  day  remonstrating  against  being  antici- 
pated in  so  many  things  that  she  was  intending  to  do 
for  her  mother,  to  prevent  her  being  too  heavy  a 
burden  to  the  kind-hearted  lady. 

"  Don't  talk  of  my  being  burdened  ;  who  knows  but 
I  shall  need  the  same  offices  performed  for  me,  some 
day  ?  This  unnatural  war  is  not  over  yet ;  remember, 
you  may  have  the  opportunity,  before  long,  of  doing 
more  for  me  than  I  am  now  doing  for  you." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  would,  in  any  circumstances,  be 
possible  for  us  to  do  more,"  responded  Clara,  with  a 
grateful  smile  ;  then,  heaving  a  sigh,  she  remarked 
that  she  hoped  Mrs.  Adams  would  be  spared  the  trials 
they  had  been  called  to  endure. 

"I  know  you  must  have  felt  a  dread  of  something 
terrible,  to  have  chosen  such  a  night  on  which  to  leave 
your  home  ;  such  a  home,  too,  as  Lieutenant  Philips 
had  described  yours  to  be." 

"  We  were  driven,  by  adverse  circumstances,  first 
to  choose  a  tempest  of  thunder  and  lightning  to 
escape  from  home  in  ;  and  we  were  held  to  our  choice 
by  learning  that  the  coming  on  of  the  storm,  on  that 
dismal  night,  saved  us  from  the  power  of  a  wicked 
mob.  Perhaps  our  courage  would  have  failed  us,  had 
it  not  been  for  this." 

"  Is  your  mother  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  I  trust  so,"  was  Clara's  reply. 


172  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"  Then  she  will  be  sustained  ;  otherwise,  she  would 
sink  in  despondency,  under  such  a  weight  of  sorrow." 

"  That  is  just  the  way  I  feel  about  her  ;  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  worst  is  over  now,  both  in  regard  to  my 
mother's  illness  and  our  own  misfortunes.  It  will 
take  some  time  for  one  like  mamma  to  rally  from  such 
an  illness,  I  know  ;  but  the  kind,  patient  feeling  you 
evince  towards  her,  in  respect  to  the  lingering  nature 
of  her  sickness,  will  aid  her  recovery  very  much.  She 
feels  this,  herself;  could  I  know  that  Edgar,  my  broth- 
er, was  now  safe  with  our  relatives,  I  should  be  almost 
happy." 

"  Hope  for  the  best,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs. 
Adams,  soothingly. 

"  I  trust  young  Philips  will  be  able  to  call  again 
soon.  I  have  wondered  that  he  has  not  been  here 
since  the  day  after  he  left  us  in  your  care  ;  but  per- 
haps I  ought  not  to  have  expected  him." 

"  You  should  not  have  looked  for  him,  Miss  Murray, 
for  he  cannot  go  where  he  pleases  always,  if  he  is  an 
officer ;  but  the  mention  of  your  brother's  name  has 
excited  my  curiosity  and  interest  greatly,  and  I  must 
be  excused  for  asking  his  age." 

"  Certainly,  my  friend,  you  have  a  right  to  ask  such 
a  question.  He  is  not  far  from  fifteen  ;  and  now  I 
must  be  indulged  in  questioning  you  ;  I  would  have 
you  tell  me  why  you  so  much  desired  to  learn  the  age 
of  my  brother." 

Mrs.  Adams  at  once  gratified  Clara's  wish.  But 
we  will  leave  her  explanation  for  the  next  chapter. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  173 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  Since  he  doth  lack 

Of  going  back; 

Little  whose  will 

Doth  urge  him  to  run  wrong,  or  to  stand  still." 

Bex  Joxson. 

"  The  one  remains;  the  many  change  and  pass; 
Heaven's  light  forever  shines;   earth's  shadows  flee." 

Mrs.  Adams  had  often  heard  "little"  Edgar 
Murray  spoken  of  by  a  nephew  of  hers.  She  knew, 
also,  that  this  young  man,  whose  father  was  a  seces- 
sionist, was  devotedly  attached  to  the  sister  of  this 
lad,  and  had  felt  anxious,  ever  after  she  first  saw 
Clara,  to  know  if  she  was  this  same  young  lady,  but 
had  from  time  to  time  resisted  the  temptation  she  felt, 
to  make  the  inquiry,  which,  when  she  could  not  longer 
forbear  making,  had  brought  to  light  a  fact  that  made 
Clara  thrice  welcome  to  her  home  and  heart. 

George  Ashley,  the  young  man  referred  to,  was 
very  dear  to  .Clara,  and  although  no  decided  engage- 
ment of  marriage  had  been  entered  into  by  them,  they 
both  understood  that  it  was  the  will  of  the  other  to 
cherish  such  an  affection  as  might,  and  probably  would, 
result  in  their  forming  a  conjugal  relation  with  each 
other  at  some  future  day.  George  had  never  attempted 
to  conceal  his  attachment  for  Clara,  and  she  had  never 
denied  her  preference  for  him.  She  hardly  ventured 
to  think  of  obstacles  that  might  prevent  the  consum- 
mation of  her  youthful  wishes.  She  was  not  obliged 
at  present  to  think  of  anything  so  unpleasant,  she 
said  to  herself,  and  so  she  had  lived  on,  for  more  than 
15* 


174  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

two  years,  making  bright  fancy  sketches,  every  day, 
of  her  future  life,  when- she  should  become  the  wife 
of  her  noble  George. 

The  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  her  new  friend,  Mrs. 
Adams,  loved  this  dear  object  of  her  affection  and 
present  solicitude,  made  her  seem  very  dear  to  Clara. 

"  What  a  kind  providence  it  was  that  led  that  young 
officer  to  bring  us  to  your  house,"  said  Clara  one  day 
to  her  hostess  ;  "or  I  should  say,  how  many  little 
events,  that  were  providential,  concurred  to  bring  us 
here." 

"Very  true,"  replied  the  lady  addressed,  "audi 
love  to  adopt  the  sentiment  of  that  poet,  who  says  — 

1  In  each  event  of  life  how  clear 

Thy  ruling  hand  I  see  ; 
Each  blessing  to  ray  soul  most  dear, 
Because  conferred  by  thee.' 

"  I  feel  that  God  has  a  purpose  of  love  and  mercy 
to  fulfil,  in  everything  that  occurs.  I  don't  love  to 
hear  people  talk  of  things  happening,  because  I  feel 
that  the  same  power  that  clothes  the  lily,  and  '  feeds 
the  ravens  when  they  cry/  controls  the  smallest  events 
of  our  lives  in  such  a  manner  that  each  helps  to 

'  Fulfil  some  deep  design ' 

of  our  wonder-working  Father." 

"How  dear  you  are  becoming  to  me,  Mrs.  Adams, 
I  oan't  tell  you;  it  seems  as  if  I  had  known  you 
always." 

"  And  I,  too,  my  dear,  feel  that  our  sympathies  have 
created  a  strong  bond  of  friendship  between  your 
mother,  yourself,  and  me,  which  it  would  have  required 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  175 

years,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  to  create.  I 
only  wish  George  could  come  here  now,  poor  boy." 

Mrs.  Adams  sighed  deeply,  as  she  pronounced  these 
last  words,  and  Clara  looked  anxiously  into  her  face. 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  poor,  Mrs.  Adams,"  asked 
Clara. 

"  Don't  you  know  his  situation  ?  "  interrogated  her 
friend. 

"  I  know  nothing ;  I  have  suspected  he  might  be  in 
circumstances  that  were  not  pleasant,  because  I  believe 
he  sympathizes  with  me  in  my  strong  attachment  to 
the  United  States." 

"  How  long  since  you  have  seen  George,  Clara  ?  " 
"  Not  since  the  Spring  of  1861,  or  a  few  weeks  after 
the  war  commenced.     Have  you  seen  or  heard  from 
him  since  ?  "  asked  Clara. 

"  Yes,  several  times,  stealthily  ;  I  have  helped  him 
out  of  trouble  more  than  once,  by  concealing  him  from 
those  who  were  in  pursuit  of  him,  who  would  have 
him  take  up  arms  against  the  dear  old  stars  and 
stripes." 

"  Then  he  has  never  been  forced  to  fight  ?  " 
"No,  he  has  not,  because  he  would  not,  and  has 
managed  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  else  he  would  have 
been  compelled  to  join  the  Confederate  army,  or  suffer 
for  not  doing  so." 

"  What  a  life  he  is  obliged  to  lead,  poor  young 
man,"  exclaimed  Clara  ;  "  how  much  misery  and  woe  a 
few  ambitious  politicians  have  brought  upon  our 
land." 

"  It  is  even  as  you  say  ;  yet 't  is  a  comfort  to  reflect 
that  infinite  wisdom  is  at  the  head  of  these  seeming 
tumultuous  affairs,  and  will  guide  the  helm  of  the  uni- 


176  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

verse  aright.  '  He  will  make  even  the  wrath  of  man 
to  praise  him/  reluctant  as  the  wicked  are  that  this 
shall  be  so." 

"  Thoughts  of  this  bring  comfort  to  my  heart  when 
I  feel  sad,"  responded  Clara.  "  But  I  am  desirous  to 
know  if  this  New  England  friend  of  ours  has  ever  seen 
George." 

"  Don't  ask  the  Lieutenant  that  question,  and  don't 
expect  me  to  answer  it  to  your  satisfaction.  I  would 
not  betray  confidence,  or  make  known  anything  that 
would  mortify,  in  ever  so  small  a  degree,  either  of 
these  noble  young  men." 

"  I  admire  that  decision  of  yours,  Mrs.  Adams,  and 
will  wait  until  George  shall  tell  me  his  own  history,  to 
know  what  I  wish  to  ;  but  you  may  be  willing  to  tell 
me  how  long  it  is  since  he  was  here." 

"  It  is  only  a  few  weeks.  He  came  in  disguise,  to 
visit  a  friend  in  the  Union  camp,  and  contrived  to  make 
us  a  night  visit.  I  do  not  know  where  he  is  now,  but 
should  not  be  surprised  to  learn,  by  and  by,  that  he 
has  gone  to  New  England.  I  pity  him  most  of  all, 
because  he  has  not  been  taught  to  rely  upon  himself. 
He  does  n't  know  how  to  get  along  without  consid- 
erable money,  and  he  is  poor  now,  for  his  father  has 
withdrawn  his  support  from  him,  and  swears  that  this 
son  shall  be  an  outcast  from  his  home,  and  a  beggar, 
until  he  will  comply  with  his  wishes,  and  join  the 
Southern  army.  This,  George  says,  he  cannot  perjure 
his  soul  to  do,  so  he  is  entirely  thrown  upon  his  own 
resources." 

"  If  he  could  only  get  to  some  city  in  the  North, 
and  procure  a  situation  in  some  business  establish- 
ment as  clerk,  to  write,  and  attend  to  branches  of  bus- 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  177 

iness  that  are  not  hard,  he  might  get  along,  until  this 
war  is  over  ;  don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Adams  ?  " 

"  I  fear,  Clara,  he  will  have  to  support  himself,  after 
the  war  shall  have  ceased,  even  should  it  continue 
many  years.  His  father  will  never  forgive  him  be- 
cause he  has  outraged  his  pride  so  terribly,  in  refus- 
ing to  do  all  in  his  power  to  distinguish  himself  as  a 
Southern  soldier.  At  the  commencement  of  the  war, 
Mr.  Ashley  flattered  himself  that  both  his  sons  would 
fight  for  secession  ;  and  he  confessed  that  he  gloried 
in  having  two  such  noble  boys,  to  help  assert  the  rights 
of  the  "  Confederacy."  Then,  to  be  so  disappointed, 
was  a  great  mortification  to  his  proud  heart.  We  are 
proud  of  him,  because  he  will  not  fight  against  the  old 
flag  ;  because  he  would  rather  give  up  his  birthright 
than  do  so." 

"  Yes,  and  well  we  may  be  proud  of  him ;  he  has 
not  been  bribed  to  be  true  to  our  Government,  to 
serve  it  for  a  large  bounty,  but  he  has  sworn  to  be 
true  to  it,  always  ;  and  if  his  feelings  revolt  at  the  idea 
of  meeting  his  father  or  brother  in  deadly  conflict 
upon  the  battle-field,  he  is  ready  to  serve  the  Union  in 
any  way  in  which  he  can,  without  taking  up  arms. 
Even  that  he  will  not  shrink  from,  should  circumstan- 
ces render  it  necessary  for  him  to  assist  in  defending 
his  country." 

"Is  George's  mother  a  Union  woman,  Mrs.  Ad- 
ams?" 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I  cannot  say  she  is,  much  as 
I  should  like  to  be  able  to  tell  you  so.  She  is  one  of 
the  infatuated  ones,  and  as  her  temperament  is  ardent, 
she  takes  a  strong  stand  on  the  wrong  side,  and  has 
used  her  powers  of  persuasion  to  endeavor  to  bring 


178  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

her  son  to  a  right  state  of  feeling,  as  she  expresses 
herself  in  regard  to  the  subject.  She  has  also  tried 
to  convince  me  that  I  am  wrong  in  cherishing  these 
old-fashioned  puritanical  notions,  as  she  calls  adher- 
ence to  the  good  old  Government,  until  she  despairs 
of  changing  my  views  ;  and  I  begin  to  think  that  she 
will  disown  me  as  her  sister.' ' 

"  How  many  families  will  be  broken  up  by  this  un- 
holy conflict,"  said  Clara,  partly  to  herself  and  almost 
unconsciously. 

"  Yes,  Clara,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  who  was  now 
awake,  and  had  been  listening  to  the  conversation  of 
her  two  loving  attendants.  "  Darkness  hovers  over 
our  land  now,  but  since  I  have  been  so  mercifully 
brought  out  of  the  house  of  moral  bondage,  and  my 
lot  has  fallen  in  this  pleasant  spot,  I  feel  that  I  can 
trust  God  with  everything,  always.  The  cloud  that 
has  obscured  my  sky  has  a  silver  lining,  which  is  now 
visible  to  me." 

Mrs.  .-Murray  recovered  her  strength  slowly  ;  yet, 
as  the  weeks  glided  by,  it  was  plain  that  she  improved 
some  during  each  week.  Raymond  called,  when  she 
had  been  with  her  new  friends  about  three  weeks,  and 
gladdened  her  heart  by  bringing  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  and  also  one  from  Edgar,  penned  at  the  home 
of  his  aunt,  where  he  said  he  should  be  happy,  if  he 
might  have  his  mother  and  sister  with  him.  He  men- 
tioned his  nurse,  Hannah,  with  affectionate  interest, 
and  spoke,  too,  of  Sam,  who,  he  said,  was  a  good 
friend  to  him ;  still,  he  felt  sorry  that  he  should  act  so 
deceitful  a  part  towards  his  master. 

"  I  told  Sam  that  morning,  that  I  did  not  wish  him 
to  know  that  I  was  going  to  take  a  walk ;    that  I 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  179 

wished  him  to  go  into  the  house  and  stay  until  father 
might  want  him.  But  he  would  n't  do  as  I  wished 
him  to  ;  he  took  me  up  while  I  was  urging  him  to  let 
me  alone,  and  jumped  upon  Lion,  that  fastest  of  all 
fast  horses,  and  galloped  off.  It  seemed  to  me  not 
more  than  two  minutes  before  we  were  out  of  sight  of 
the  place.  I  then  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  he  ran 
the  horse  back,  at  least  until  he  was  out  of  my  sight. 
He  told  me,  if  father  saw  him,  he  should  tell  him  he 
was  looking  for  'young  massa.'  0,  Sam,"  said  I, 
"  why  need  you  go  with  me,  when  you  expect  to  be 
obliged  to  tell  what  is  n't  true,  if  you  do  ?  " 

"  '  Don't  fret/  said  he  ;  'I  knows  how  to  get  along 
with  massa,'  and  away  he  went.  Poor  fellow  !  I  hope 
he  will  not  get  into  trouble  on  account  of  his  devotion 
to  me." 

This  letter  was  like  cordial  to  the  heart  of  her  to 
whom  it  was  addressed.  A  postscript  was  added, 
addressed  to  Clara,  written  in  a  playful,  hopeful 
strain  ;  he  spoke  in  high  terms  of  his  grandmother, 
aunt,  and  cousins. 

"  One  of  them  I  don't  admire  very  much,  though," 
said  he;  "  to  be  candid,  I  must  say  I  don't  know 
what  to  think  of  my  eldest  cousin,  Bessie.  Some- 
times I  am  almost  ready  to  love  her  a  little  ;  but  she 
will  drive  all  my  lovable  thoughts  away  before  they 
get  really  settled  upon  her.  Perhaps  Clara  will  see 
her  through  different  spectacles,  and  will  discern  traits 
in  her  which  are  invisible  to  me." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  had  been  informed  of  her  sister's 
whereabouts  and  condition,  by  Raymond,  and  her 
letter  was  full  of  expressions  of  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion.    It  contained  also  a  fifty  dollar  United  States 


180  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

bank  note,  and  an  apology  for  the  appearance  of  said 
note,  which  had  been  enclosed  with  trembling  lest  it 
should  offend.  Still,  Mrs.  Jenkins  thought  it  might 
possibly  be  needed,  and  if  it  was  not,  her  sister  could 
bring  it  back  to  her,  when  she  should  visit  her.  But 
all  Mrs.  Jenkins's  apologies  were  needless,  for  her 
kindness  was  appreciated  by  her  sister. 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  181 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

11  Cease,  fond  caviller  at  wisdom,  to  be  satisfied  that  everything  is  wrong, 
Be  sure  there  is  good  necessity  even  for  the  flourishing  of  evil." 

Tuppee. 

Mrs.  Murray  wept  over  the  letter  of  her  sister ; 
tears  of  joy  flowed  freely,  as  she  thought  of  her  own 
demerits  and  the  kindness  expressed  towards  herself 
by  her  neglected  friends.  Her  sister's  letter  contained 
loving  messages  from  her  mother,  that  were  like  water 
to  a  thirsty  soul  to  the  heart  of  the  long-absent 
daughter.  Both  Mrs.  Murray  and  Clara  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  the  time  when  they  should  be  with 
their  Northern  friends  ;  still,  they  enjoyed  the  society 
of  Mrs.  Adams  very  much,  and  were  as  happy  under 
her  kind  protection  as  they  could  be,  under  the  trying 
circumstances  that  had  procured  for  them  the  friend- 
ship of  this  lady,  "this  real  sister  of  mercy." 

During  the  hour  that  passed  while  Raymond  was  at 
Bloomdale  Place,  Clara  heard  the  name  of  George 
spoken  in  low  tones  more  than  once  by  her  hostess  and 
her  New  England  friend,  and  she  conjectured  that  it  was 
George  Ashley  who  was  the  subject  of  remark,  yet  she 
refrained  from  asking  questions.  The  pulsations  of 
her  heart  were  quickened,  however,  although  she  did 
not  anticipate  evil  from  what  little  information  she  had 
gathered  by  the  incidental  remarks  that  had  been  made 
in  her  hearing.  But  0,  how  much  she  longed  to  ask 
Raymond  to  befriend  the  young  Southerner,  if  he  should 
ever  meet  with  him,  when  he  should  have  an  opportu- 


182  BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND. 

nity  to  do  so.     She  did  not  realize  how  needless  was 
this  request. 

Had  Clara  seen  this  Union  officer  when  he  had  had 
the  care  of  some  of  his  Southern  brethren,  who  had 
been  taken  prisoners  by  the  Federals,  she  would  have 
seen  the  needlessness  of  Jier  anxiety.  A  kinder  feel- 
ing never  glowed  in  the  breast  of  man  than  that  which 
was  cherished  by  Raymond  Philips  towards  enemies 
as  well  as  friends.  No  vindictive  feeling  ever  found 
lodgment  in  his  heart  a  moment.  He  acted  from 
principle,  and  all  his  derelictions  from  the  pathway  of 
right,  were  on  the  side  of  mercy ;  for,  strange  as  seems 
the  statement,  to  one  class  of  people  in  the  world,  the 
exercise  of  benevolence  is  sometimes  a  fault.  No  un- 
kind wish  was  ever  known  to  fall  from  the  lips  of  Ray- 
mond upon  the  foes  of  his  country.  Violent  as  was  the 
language  that  had  reached  his  ears  sometimes,  when 
he  had  involuntarily  been  a  listener  to  conversations 
held  by  those  who  loved  to  see  our  old  flag  trampled 
in  the  dust,  he  thought  it  beneath  his  notice,  al- 
though from  his  inmost  soul  he  pitied  those  whose 
hearts  were  so  hard,  and  whose  judgment  was  so  per- 
verted, as  to  allow  them  to  use  these  diabolical  epi- 
thets on  any  occasion.  And  well  might  he  pity  these 
erring  ones,  both  North  and  South  ;  and  how  appro- 
priate for  Christians  to  offer,  for  all  such,  the  prayer 
breathed  by  our  Saviour  when  upon  the  cross.  He 
exclaimed,  "Father  forgive  them,  for  they  not  what 
they  do." 

On  taking  leave  of  his  friends  at  Bloomdale,  Ray- 
mond told  Mrs.  Murray  and  her  daughter,  that  he 
thought  it  doubtful  whether  he  should  be  able  to  see 
them  again  before  they  would  start  for  the  North. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  183 

"  It  is  possible,  however,"  said  he,  "  for  we  have  had 
marching  orders  more  than  once  that  have  been  coun- 
termanded in  a  few  hours  after  we  have  received 
them." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  so  the  next  time  you  are  ordered 
to  the  field/ '  said  Clara  ;  "  for  I  wish  you  to  remain 
where  we  can  sometimes  see  you  while  we  stay  at 
Bloomdale." 

"  Is  that  on  the  whole  a  good  wish,  Miss  Mur- 
ray ?  "  asked  Raymond,  with  a  slight  attempt  at  smil- 
ing, while  he  spoke. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  too  selfish/'  answered  Clara,  "for  I 
was  only  thinking  of  the  comfort  of  our  little  circle 
here  when  I  spoke,  and  yet,  while  you  are  here,  your 
friends  at  home  may  feel  easy  about  you." 

Alas !  this  affectionate  girl  knew  not  that  the 
thought  that  Raymond  was  where  he  could  visit 
Bloomdale,  was  "wormword  and  gall"  to  the  heart 
of  her  whom  Raymond  loved  more  than  any  other  ob- 
ject upon  earth.  Still,  it  was  even  so  ;  the  bitterest 
drop  in  the  cup  of  trial,  now  tasted  by  Bessie,  was 
the  thought  that  he  could  now  see  and  converse  with 
her  unknown  cousin,  whom  she  considered  her  rival. 

In  answer  to  this  last  remark  made  by  Clara,  Ray- 
mond said,  "  I  feel  that  you  are  mistaken,  Miss  Mur- 
ray, in  thinking  that  my  friends  have  any  more  cause 
for  uneasiness  respecting  me  at  one  time  than  at  an- 
other. It  is  not  to  circumstances  we  are  to  look  for 
preservation,  but  to  God.  My  life  is  as  safe  upon  the 
battle-field  as  at  home  by  the  fireside  of  my  mother  ; 
until  my  life's  work  shall  have  been  accomplished,  no 
missile  of  destruction  can  take  me  from  earth." 

"  That  is  true,  my  friend  ;  but  you  may  be  wound- 


184  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

ed,  perhaps  maimed,  and  become  a  cripple  for  life," 
said  Clara. 

"  Yes,  very  true,  I  may ;  but  can  I  avoid  this  evil 
by  remaining  in  a  state  of  comparative  safety  ?  I 
think  not.  I  know  a  young  man  who  lost  an  arm  by 
the  accidental  discharge  of  his  own  rifle,  when  he  was, 
as  he  thought,  secure  from  all  harm.  You  have 
heard,  perhaps,  of  the  sudden  death  of  a  young  man 
of  great  promise,  who  belonged  to  the  self-denying 
New  York  Seventh,  as  I  love  to  call  that  regiment  of 
brave  men.  Then,  the  dear  little  "  Drummer  Boy" 
was  summoned  from  earth  by  the  accidental  discharge 
of  a  weapon,  when  his  position  was  considered  entirely 
safe.  I  could  mention  very  many  more  such  incidents 
to  prove  that 

"  Fate  steals  along  with  silent  tread, 
Found  oftenest  in  what  least  we  dread ; 
Frowns  in  the  storm  with  angry  brow, 
But  in  the  sunshine  strikes  the  blow." 

And  fate  is  not  just  the  word  I  would  have  had  the 
poet  use  in  speaking  of  the  power  of  Omnipotence, 
executed  in  doing  what  "He  will  with  his  own." 
That  word  fate  seems  to  imply  a  sort  of  despotism  on 
the  part  of  the  Disposer  of  events,  which  is  foreign  to 
his  character  as  a 

"  Sovereign  Father,  good  and  kind," 

which  his  acts  to  the  children  of  men  have  ever  proved 
him  to  be,  since  the  world  began. 'j 

"You  arc  right,"  answered  Clara;  "but  I  often 
find  myself  forgetting  the  important  truth,  that  we 
need  only  concern  ourselves  to  learn  and  do  our  duty ; 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  185 

I  am  ever  feeling  the  necessity  there  is  of  the  '  line 
upon  line,  and  precept  upon  precept '  teaching  of  the 
Bible,  in  my  own  case." 

"You  are  liko  the  rest  of  mankind,  Miss  Murray. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  need  more  teaching  and  stern 
discipline  than  any  one  I  know.  But  I  am  stopping 
too  long.  I  will  hope  to  meet  your  mother  and  your- 
self sometime,  in  Oak  Dale." 

Raymond  then  bade  the  new  friends  adieu,  and  re- 
turned immediately  to  the  camp  of  his  regiment,  where 
preparations  were  being  made  to  march  at  the  earliest 
notice. 

16* 


186  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  But  one  must  begin  to  love  somewhere,  and  to  do  good  somewhere :  and 
I  think  it  is  as  natural  to  love  one's  own  family,  and  to  do  good  in  one's 
own  neighborhood,  as  to  anybody  else.  Charity  does  not  end  where  it  be- 
gins, my  friend." 

While  Raymond  had  been  occupied  with  the  various 
little  matters  to  be  looked  after  for  the  comfort  of  the  two 
ladies,  who,  he  felt,  were  thrown  by  a  direct  Providence 
upon  his  care,  he  had  been  kept  from  sad  reflections 
upon  his  peculiar  trials.  He  felt  that  a  heart  pos- 
sessed of  strong  sympathies  was  a  blessing  to  its 
possessor,  since  it  keeps  one  from  that  worst  of  all 
calamities,  being  buried  alive  in  one's  own  grief. 
Never  had  he  realized  that  this  was  true,  as  he  had 
done  while  forgetting  in  a  sense  his  own  affliction,  in 
administering  to  the  necessities  of  Mrs.  Murray  and 
her  daughter. 

Sometimes  a  pang  would  cross  his  breast  when  he 
thought  of  Bessie's  jealousy  of  his  attentions  to  her 
cousin  ;  yet  he  did  not  for  one  moment  falter  in  his  pur- 
pose to  do  all  for  the  unfortunate  girl  and  her  mother 
that  he  would  like  another  to  do  for  those  dear  to  him, 
should  such  ever  be  placed  in  circumstances  to  require 
similar  attentions. 

"  Bessie  must  appreciate  my  motives  in  befriending 
her  relative  ;  surely,  she  would  no£  have  me  do  less 
for  any  unprotected  strangers  than  I  have  done  for 
her  aunt  and  cousins,"  thought  the  young  man ;  "  but  if 
it  is  otherwise,  I  must  do  my  duty  and  leave  results." 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  187 

Thus  his  manly  soul  was  strengthened  for  the  moral 
conflict  before  him,  and  he  passed  on,  outriding  the 
heavy  surges  that  were  encountered  by  him  in  the  sea 
of  passion. 

Bessie,  during  all  these  weeks,  had  been  drifting 
along  the  tide  of  morbid  feeling,  borne  by  the  current 
of  impulse,  until  she  found  herself  driven  upon  the 
shoals  of  discontent  and  fretfulness.  She  was  indeed 
really  unhappy  herself,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  wished 
others  to  be  as  miserable  as  she  was. 

"Bessie,  dear,  what  ails  you?-7  tenderly  inquired 
her  grandmother,  one  evening,  while  the  family  were 
expecting  Edgar's  arrival.  "  Can  I  do  anything  to 
make  you  happy  ?  "  continued  this  kind  relative,  as 
Bessie  did  not  answer  the  first  question. 

"I  don't  care  for  anything/'  was  Bessie's  reply, 
uttered  in  a  sullen  tone.  "I  wish  I  had  never  been 
born,"  she  continued  ;  "  everything  goes  wrong,  that  I 
have  any  interest  in ;  it 's  no  use  for  me  to  care  for 
anybody,  or  anything,  and  I  don't  mean  to." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  had  heard  this  last  remark  as  she  was 
entering  the  room  where  sat  her  mother  and  daughter. 
"  Bessie,  it  really  distresses  me  to  see  you  in  this 
unhappy  mood.  I  hope  you  will  exert  yourself  to  be 
cheerful,  when  your  cousin  Edgar  comes  to  make  one 
of  our  family,  for  he  will  need  cheering.  Instead  of 
unhappy,  gloomy  face,  she  ought  to  have  bright  coun- 
tenances to  gaze  upon,  in  this  home  so  new  to  him, 
and  where  each  person  is  a  stranger." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  paused,  but  her  daughter  did  not 
answer  her  kind  suggestions,  but  sat  in  moody  silence. 
How  long  she  would  have  remained  thus  is  uncertain, 
had  not  her  revery  been  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of 


188  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

the  door-bell.  On  hearing  this  summons  for  admit- 
tance, she  hastily  arose  and  hurried  from  the  room. 
A  moment  or  two  later,  a  lad  was  ushered  into  the 
room  Bessie  had  left,  who  introduced  himself  as  Edgar 
Murray.  "  My  own  dear  grandson,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Clement,  clasping  the  youth  in  her  arms;  "thank 
heaven,  I  have  lived  to  see  your  face.7' 

"  My  dear  grandmamma/'  responded  Edgar,  "  I 
feel  that  you  love  me  already." 

"  And  I,  too,  welcome  you  with  much  love,  my  dear 
nephew,"  said  the  boy's  aunt,  with  deep  feeling. 

"  My  dear  aunt,  you  cannot  know  how  glad  I  am,  to 
find  myself  safe  under  your  roof." 

"  We  are  very  glad  also  that  you  are  here,  and  we 
long  to  have  an  opportunity  to  welcome  your  mother 
and  sister  to  our  home,"  replied  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

Bessie's  brothers  came  in  soon  after,  and  were 
delighted  at  the  sight  of  their  cousin.  His  aunt,  rightly 
judging  that  the  lad  was  very  weary,  soon  set  refresh- 
ments before  him,  and  having  eaten  a  light  supper,  he 
soon  after  expressed  a  wish  to  retire  for  the  night. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  he,  as  he  arose  to  go  to  his 
room,  attended  by  one  of  his  cousins,  "I  shall  have 
much  to  say  ;  I  am  too  sleepy  now  ;  so  good  night,  my 
dear  friends." 

Bessie  was  in  her  own  room,  and  she  could  not  help 
hearing  the  "  good  night"  of  Edgar,  or  his  voice,  as 
he  ascended  the  stairs,  talking  cheerfully  with  his 
attendant.  If  she  had  not  known  before  that  it  was 
him  who  had  been  announced  soon  after  her  hasty 
retreat  from  the  sitting-room,  she  could  be  ignorant  no 
longer  ;  yet  she  was  in  no  mood  to  welcome  the  youth- 
ful guest.     Clara  was  associated  in  her  mind  with  this 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  I6i) 

brother,  and  she  was  determined  to  vent  her  ill-will 
towards  the  unoffending  Clara  upon  Edgar.  "  I  don't 
care  to  see  him,"  said  she,  mentally,  when  she  had 
heard  him  ask  her  brother  if  his  sister  was  absent  from 
home,  as  he  passed  her  door  on  his  way  to  his  cham- 
ber. Bessie  did  not  join  the  family  again  that  evening, 
but  her  mother  went  to  her  room,  and,  with  all  the 
powers  of  persuasion  with  which  she  was  gifted,  strove 
to  bring  her  to  a  better  state  of  feeling  towards  the 
new  comer. 

"Don't,  my  daughter,  mortify  us  all,  by  appearing 
in  such  an  ungenerous  mood  before  your  cousin.  It 
will  be  trying  enough  for  him  to  feel  that  he  is  sur- 
rounded by  strange  faces,  if  they  all  look  pleasant ; 
but  for  him  to  meet  you  with  such  a  lugubrious  coun- 
tenance as  you  have  recently  carried  about,  will  be 
terrible." 

Bessie  could  not  restrain  a  smile  at  her  mother's 
earnestness  of  manner,  and  that  lady  hailed  it  as  an 
omen  of  good.  Therefore  she  was  not  surprised  when 
next  morning  Bessie  met  her  cousin  with  something 
like  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  which  was  even  more 
successful  than  her  mother  had  dared  to  hope.  But 
Bessie's  pleasant  impulse  was  transient ;  her  moods 
varied  during  the  day,  and  towards  night  her  feelings 
again  took  the  shade  of  sadness,  and  she  sat  silent  and 
unhappy.  This  state  of  things  continued  for  some 
time  with  Bessie,  while  Edgar  regarded  her  with  a 
puzzled  feeling,  and  this  was  why  he  mentioned  her  in 
his  letter  to  his  mother,  as  the  only  one  of  his  aunt's 
family  with  whom  he  was  not  entirely  satisfied. 

For  one  reason,  Edgar  felt  grieved  that  Bessie  was 
nut  mure  congenial  tu  his  taste  ;  he  had  huped  she 


190  BESSIE    AND    EAYMOND. 

would  make  a  pleasant  companion  for  Clara,  but  he 
thought  she  seemed  the  least  companionable  of  any 
young  lady  he  had  ever  met  with, 

"How  do  you  like  my  sister,  Edgar  ? "  asked 
Albert,  when  his  cousin  had  been  in  the  family  a  few 
days. 

"I  would  like  her  if  she  would  only  give  me  a 
chance  ;  but  something,  it  appears  to  me,  must  be  the 
matter  with  her  ;  if  it  was  my  sister  who  seemed  so 
strange,  I  should  be  afraid  she  was  going  crazy." 

Albert  laughed  outright  at  his  cousin's  confession, 
and  Willie  joined  in  his  mirth. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  "  asked  Edgar,  soberly. 

"  Because  we  can't  help  it,"  said  Willie,  "to  think 
you  should  be  so  innocent  in  not  blaming  Bessie  for 
her  ugliness,  when  'tis  nothing  but  temper  that  makes 
her  seem  so  awful-like  ;  I  don't  know  what  to  call  it." 

"But  she  is  pleasant  sometimes,  and  very  sociable 
with  me,"  said  Edgar  ;  "  and  I'm  very  sorry  that  she 
is  not  so  all  the  time,  for  she  is  a  pretty  girl." 

But  Edgar  was  obliged  to  regret  Bessie's  unsocial 
conduct  for  many  a  long  day,  and  sometimes  he  felt 
that  her  brothers  were  not  far  from  right  in  rendering 
the  verdict  of  "  ugly  "  upon  her  actions.  She  mysti- 
fied him  very  much,  and  he  could  not  but  feel  that  she 
was  a  strange  girl. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  191 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Snch  a  stress  does  the  established  order  of  nature  teach  us  to  lay  upon 
little  things." 

"  Education,  fashion,  and  habit,  have  a  vast  influence  on  our  intellectual 
operations,  and  exercise  a  powerful  sway  over  our  moral  judgments." 

The  marching  orders  which  had  been  received  by 
the  regiment  to  which  Raymond  belonged,  were  not, 
on  that  occasion,  countermanded.  The  regiment  moved 
forward  in  high  spirits,  the  movement  was  such  a 
pleasant  contrast  to  the  dull  monotony  of  camp  life. 
Raymond  felt  glad  that  this  order  to  move  had  not 
been  given  before  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Murray  and  Clara 
in  a  place  of  safety,  and  with  friends  whom  he  was 
sure  would  do  all  that  could  be  done  to  assist  them  in 
reaching  Oak  Dale. 

The  passionate,  unfeeling  course  which  Bessie  had 
pursued  caused  him  pain.  She  should  have  cheered 
him  by  her  kindly  letters,  such  as  she  had  written  to 
him  until  recently.  Would  she  ever  feel  kindly  to- 
wards him  again  ?  he  hoped  so,  and  he  trusted  that 
she  would  be  led  to,  and  at  no  very  remote  period, 
too.  Comforting  himself  with  this  last  reflection,  his 
spirits  rose  with  the  inspiring  thought  that  he  was 
now  to  be  permitted  to  do  something  towards  putting 
an  end  to  the  cruel  Rebellion  that  was  bringing  untold 
calamity  to  the  whole  of  our  dear  land.  Raymond's 
mind  was  not  fettered  by  sectional  prejudices  ;  he 
loved  his  whole  country.  He  had  none  of  that  narrow- 
mindedness  which  causes  one  to  despise  a  people  be- 


192  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

cause  they  have  faults,  and  because  they  may  be  led 
to  commit  great  wrongs  by  confiding  in  leading  men 
who  are  unworthy  to  be  trusted. 

He  felt  that  the  United  States  Government  would 
be  recognized,  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ,  as  the 
power  that  should  have  swayed  this  nation  both  North 
and  South,  and  that  the  individual  who  it  was  found 
there  had  acted  a  disloyal  part,  would  be  proved,  before 
an  assembled  universe,  guilty  of  one  of  the  vilest  of- 
fenses, —  treason.  With  convictions  like  these  forced 
upon  him,  he  could  not  feel  himself  justified  in  withhold- 
ing the  strength  of  his  right  arm,  even  though  he  should 
be  obliged  to  raise  it  against  his  erring  brethren. 

"  Why  should  the  South  force  us  to  shed  the  blood 
of  their  young  men  when  it  is  so  unnecessary  ?  " 
said  Raymond,  while,  on  this  march,  a  sense  of  the 
wickedness  of  this  conflict  came  with  renewed  force 
to  his  mind,  as  he  was  conversing  with  a  comrade. 

"  The  South  itself  could  not  tell  you  why,"  replied 
the  person  addressed.  "  Even  the  political  aspirants 
could  not  make  this  subject  clear  to  others  if  they  un- 
derstand it  themselves.  The  truth  is,  the  head  men 
at  the  South  did  not  count  the  cost  of  this  Rebellion. 
They  could  not  imagine  that  the  blow  given  at  Fort 
Sumter  would  be  felt  all  over  the  North,  as  it  has  been, 
ever  since  those  first  shots  were  fired,  else  they  had 
not  discharged  a  single  gun." 

"  Misguided  men,"  responded  Raymond.  "Hav- 
ing commenced  rolling  this  traitorous  ball,  pride  com- 
pels them  to  keep  it  moving  until  it  can  be  stopped 
without  branding  them  with  cowardice.  But  it  is 
hard  for  us  to  be  obliged  to  fight  even  strangers  ; 
harder  still  to  go  to  battle  against  our  brethren  ;  and 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  193 

yet  wc  have  no  alternative,  unless  it  be  the  overthrow 
of  our  Government,  and  should  we  allow  that  to  be 
wrested  from  us,  without  a  hard  struggle,  we  should 
receive  punishment  from  heaven,  undoubtedly.  This 
war  is  our  choice  of  calamities. " 

"  Yes,  and  we  must  accept  it  cheerfully  ;  don't  feel 
too  tender-hearted  toward  these  Rebels,  Philips  ; 
you  won't  fight  well  unless  you  get  your  mad  up." 

u  I  differ  from  you,  Dean  ;  I  think  we  ought  to  be 
in  a  temper  of  mind  that  will  fit  us  to  pray  for  our  en- 
emies all  the  time.  How  can  you  think  of  going  into 
the  presence  of  a  Holy  God  with  your  breast  glowing 
with  rage." 

"  I  don't  think  of  such  a  catastrophe  as  that,  Phil. 
I  expect  to  come  out  of  this  battle,  unhurt ;  there  is 
nothing  like  hoping  against  hope,  you  know  " 

M  I  feel  that  there  is  something  worth  more  to  one's 
soul  than  the  hope  that  we  shall  escape  physical  harm  ; 
something  too,  that  has  a  firmer  foundation  than  all 
your  present  hopes  of  escaping  injury." 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say  farther,  Phil  ;  but  I 
am  no  Christian,  you  know." 

"  Then,  how  did  you  dare  come  where  you  are  so 
exposed  to  the  missiles  of  death,  almost  continu- 
ally?" 

"  Because  I  hoped  to  be  spared  through  all  the 
danger,  and  return  home.  I  don't  expect  to  be  killed, 
or  even  wounded." 

"It  would  be  better  to  trust  ourselves  with  God, 
my  friend,"  was  Raymond's  earnest  reply. 

This  march  was  a  tiresome  one  ;  the  roads  were  in 
a  bad  condition ;    the  air  was  extremely  chilling  to 
our  brave  boys  as  they  pursued  their  way.     Night 
17 


194  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

came  on  early,  for  the  days  were  shortening  very  fast. 
The  regiment  halted  but  seldom,  for  it  was  important 
that  they  should  be  near  Fredericksburg  as  soon  as 
possible  ;  and  they  did  reach  their  destined  position, 
and  take  part  in  that  sad  slaughter,  before  that  forti- 
fied city  of  secession,  as  it  stood  before  the  "  Army 
of  the  Potomac,"  in  the  autumn  of  1862. 

Raymond  was  near  the  front  during  that  engage- 
ment, the  result  of  which  produced  intense  excitement 
throughout  the  North,  and  gave  rise  to  many  unpleas- 
ant speculations  and  grievous  criticisms.  This  was  the 
most  severe  conflict  in  which  Raymond  had  borne  a 
part.  His  horse  was  shot  under  him,  but  he  passed 
through  the  whole  struggle  without  injury.  After 
the  firing  had  ceased,  he  stood  upon  the  battle-field 
and  wept,  as  he  beheld  the  carnage  around  him.  Fa- 
miliar faces  lay  all  around,  whose  features  were  still 
in  death.  How  ghastly  this  spectacle  !  How  horri- 
ble this  evidence  that  war  is  a  fearful  scourge  to  hu- 
manity !  Raymond  could  not  spare  time  for  contem- 
plation, surrounded  as  he  was  by  men  who  were 
writhing  in  anguish.  Some  were  dying,  while  others 
were  suffering,  perchance,  more  than  pangs  which  oft- 
times  cause  the  dissolution  of  the  frail  casket  that 
contains  that  precious  gem,  the  human  soul. 

Raymond  did  all  in  his  power  for  both"  friend  and 
foe.  He  looked  anxiously  for  his  comrade,  Dean,  yet 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Through  all  that  cold 
night  after  the  battle,  Raymond  labored  with  all  his 
might  for  those  who  needed  assistance  ;  and  many  a 
life,  precious  beyond  description  to  a  dear  circle  at 
home,  was  saved  by  his  timely  efforts.  He  noticed 
the  body  of  a  young  man  as  he  was  passing  over  the 


•     BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  1(J5 

field,  in  whom  life  seemed  extinct.  He  passed  by  it, 
Letting  fall  a  tear  over  its  youth  and  loveliness,  when 
a  sudden  impulse  caused  him  to  turn  his  head  and 
look  again  upon  the  mortal  part  of  one  who  appeared 
to  have  left  a  home  of  refinement,  for  that  field  of 
strife. 

Raymond  retraced  his  steps,  and'  bent  over  the  in- 
animate form  before  him  ;  and  as  his  ear  was  close  to 
the  face  so  comely  in  its  stillness,  he  caught  a  sound 
that  made  him  start,  for  it  came  from  what  he  had 
thought  a  corpse.  How  his  bosom  thrilled  with 
pleasure  at  the  thought  that  possibly  he  might  be  in- 
strumental in  prolonging  the  life  of  this  young  man, 
whose  countenance  had  interested  him  so  deeply. 
Placing  his  ear  near  the  lips  he  had  thought  would 
never  more  emit  sound,  he  was  sure  he  heard  a  sigh, 
then  a  stifled  groan  sounded  on  his  ear.  He  had 
water  in  his  own  canteen,  and  he  bathed  the  face  of 
the  sufferer  with  it,  and  strove  to  assist  him  to  swal- 
low some  of  the  refreshing  beverage,  after  staunching 
the  blood  that  was  flowing  from  his  wound. 

In  a  short  time  the  youth  languidly  opened  his  eyes 
and  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  Don't  kill  me,  don't,  for 
my  mother's  sake." 

"  I  will  do  you  good,  if  I  can,"  replied  Raymond, 
tenderly  ;  "  you  need  fear  nothing  from  me." 

He  now  noticed  that  the  young  man  wore  a  secesh 
uniform,  but  the  kind  impulse  to  do  all  he  could  for 
him  in  his  helpless  state,  was  as  strong  as  before. 
"  Poor  fellow,"  said  he  mentally,  "  although  he  has 
been  arrayed  against  me  on  the  field  of  battle,  he 
has  a  claim  to  my  compassion,  and  shall  not  be  passed 
by."     So  Raymond  called  to  a  man  near  by  to  assist 


196  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

him  in  raising  and  bearing  the  youthful  Rebel  to  the 
nearest  shelter.  This  proved  to  be  a  house  occupied 
by  a  family  who  were  opposed  to  the  Union  ;  but  they 
opened  their  doors  gladly  to  admit  the  bleeding  youth, 
as  he  was  carried  upon  a  litter  constructed  for  the  oc- 
casion, of  pieces  of  board,  which  was  carefully  covered 
with  a  blanket.  He  was  wounded  in  his  thigh,  and 
his  wound  had  bled  profusely.  It  is  probable  his  life 
would  have  flowed  entirely  away,  had  not  the  steps 
of  Raymond  been  directed  to  the  spot  where  this 
wounded  soldier  lay. 

Raymond  did  not  leave  the  young  man  entirely  to 
the  care  of  those  under  whose  roof  he  was  sheltered, 
for  he  wished  to  know  more  about  him.  The  idea  that 
he  felt  a  strong  regard  for  his  mother,  caused  his  own 
heart  to  yearn  towards  him.  His  extreme  youth,  too, 
won  upon  the  feelings  of  our  friend.  "  Such  an  expe- 
rience," thought  Raymond,  "  for  a  mere  boy ;  how  hard 
it  seems/'  and  his  preserver  longed  to  know  his  his- 
tory, and  determined,  if  possible,  to  draw  it  from  him. 
But  circumstances  did  not  favor  this  object,  and  Ray- 
mond was  obliged  to  leave  the  neighborhood  without 
learning  anything  farther  than  the  young  man's  name, 
and  the  fact  that  he  did  not  volunteer  to  join  the  Con- 
federate service.  He  appeared  very  grateful  to  all 
who  ministered  to  his  necessities,  and  expressed  un- 
bounded gratitude  towards  the  Yankee  Lieutenant, 
who,  he  was  conscious,  had  saved  his  life. 

"I  hope  I  shall  see  you  again,"  said  he,  as  he 
pressed  the  hand  of  Raymond  warmly,  at  parting. 
"  I  shall  never  forget  it  was  a  Northern  soldier 
who  has  been  the  means  of  rescuing  me  from  the 
grave.     The  surgeon  says  'tis  only  a  flesh  wound,  but 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  107 

my  life's  current  had  wcllnigh  oozed  out,  ere  I  be- 
came unconscious  ;  you  must  have  found  me  very  soon 
after. " 

"I  think  I  did,"  answered  Raymond  with  emotion  ; 
"but  it  was  a  Higher  Power  that  swayed  the  human 
instrument  that  brought  you  back  to  life.  I  passed 
you,  but  was  impelled  to  turn  back,  and  my  turning 
to  look  again,  at  what  I  supposed  was  your  corpse, 
resulted  in  your  restoration.  You  must  thank  a 
higher  Being  than  I,  that  you  live  at  this  hour." 

"  I  will  try  to  ;  but  0,  I  must  see  you  again,  some- 
time." 

' '  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,  when  the  olive 
branch  of  peace  shall  wave  over  our  whole  country. 
But  now,  adieu." 

Raymond  went  away  with  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment at  his  heart ;  the  history  of  the  youthful  stranger 
was  still  unknown  to  him. 
17* 


198  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

"  Here  lies  a  man  I  not  the  one  I  have  been  seeking,  but  still,  it  is  one  'who 
needs  my  aid,  because  he  is  my  fellow-man." 

Sergeant  Dean  had  been  invisible  to  Raymond  for 
sometime  previous  to  the  termination  of  the  battle  he 
had  anticipated  with  so  much  hope  in  respect  to  him- 
self. His  comrade  had  vainly  sought  him,  but  no  one 
had  seen  him,  whom  the  Lieutenant  met  with.  He 
thought  he  must  be  among  the  fallen  ;  but  where, 
amid  so  many,  was  he  to  be  found  ! 

"  0,  war,  war  !  "  said  our  young  friend,  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  ghastly  faces  that  were  presented  to  his 
sight,  as  he  strolled  over  the-  battle-field  in  search  of 
his  brother  soldier,  "0  war,  horrible,  fratricidal  war 
has  done  all  this.  How  much  wretchedness  has  a 
few  hours'  conflict  occasioned.  How  needless  and 
how  sad  !  " 

It  is  even  so,  and  how  many  hearts  respond  to  these 
sentiments,  all  over  our  land.  But  to  return  from 
our  digression. 

Raymond  was  obliged  to  renounce  the  hope  of  find- 
ing Dean,  anywhere.  His  duty  called  him  in  another 
direction,  and  with  a  pang  at  his  heart,  as  he  thought 
of  the  uncertain  fate  of  his  friend,  he  gave  up  the  idea. 
Sometime  before  the  engagement  had  closed,  Sergeant 
Dean  had  been  wounded";  a  shot  entered  his  left 
shoulder.  It  had  been  aimed  so  as  to  strike  him 
aslant  Iris  body,  pass  through  his  arm,  and  emerge  on 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  199 

the  outside  of  it.  He  did  not  fall  when  he  was 
wounded,  but  left  the  ranks  immediately,  and  hastened 
to  find  a  resting-place  upon  the  ground  beyond  the 
range  of  the  enemy's  guns.  His  wound  bled  so  pro- 
fusely, that  he  felt  his  strength  diminishing  rapidly, 
ere  he  had  reached  a  place  of  safety.  As  soon  as  he 
dared  to,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  ground,  and 
never  was  mother  earth,  more  valued  as  a  resting- 
place,  than  at  that  moment  it  was  by  him.  Dean  lay 
quietly  for  a  few  minutes,  but  the  effusion  of  blood  con- 
tinued, and  he  feared  that  he  had  laid  him  down  to  die 
alone. 

Ah !  how  rapidly  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  the 
home  of  affection  and  plenty  he  had  left.  In  fancy, 
his  mother  was  before  him,  grieving  at  the  news  that 
would  soon  reach  her  from  her  youngest,  and  now 
her  only  son.  His  brother  she  had  mourned  for  many 
months  ;  he,  too,  had  been  a  soldier,  and  had  fallen  a 
sacrifice  to  rebellious  ambition.  And  now  must  this 
remaining  one  perish  upon  the  same  altar  upon 
which  his  brother  had  been  slain.  "  Heaven  forbid  !  " 
exclaimed  he  ;  and  Heaven  did  forbid  this  last  sac- 
rifice. 

When  Dean  had  lain  some  little  time  unable  to 
staunch" the  crimson  gore  that  oozed  continually  from 
his  wound,  and  despairing  almost  of  ever  seeing  the 
sun  rise  again,  as  he  saw  it  sink  behind  the  western 
horizon  on  that  memorable  night,  his  attention  was 
arrested  by  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps.  He 
turned  his  head  and  saw  a  Union  soldier  near.  The 
man  perceived  his  situation,  and  stopped  when  he 
came  to  the  spot  where  he  lay. 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  "  asked  he,  in  a  feeling  tone. 

% 


200  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

'.'  Oh,  I  need  n't  have  asked  that  question  ;."  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  saw  the  blood  flowing  from  the  arm  of 
the  prostrate  soldier,  and  hastened  to  do  what  he 
could  to  stop  it.  "  You  must  n;t  lie  here  any  longer  ; 
I  '11  try  and  get  you  to  yonder  house,  where  your 
wound  can  be  properly  dressed  and  cared  for." 

So  saying,  he  raised  Dean  upon  his  feet,  and  sup- 
ported, or  rather  bora  him  in  his  strong  arms,  to  a 
neighboring  house,  where  the  wounded  man  was 
kindly  received.  The  stranger  stayed  by  him  till  his 
wound  was  dressed  and  the  crimson  life-tide  ceased 
to  flow.     Then  he  prepared  to  go. 

"  To  what  part  of  the  land  do  you  belong  ?  "  asked 
Dean. 

"  To  Massachusetts.  I  belong  to  a  regiment  that 
came  out  from  that  State,  early  in  the  summer  of 
1861.  I  have  a  brother  that  was  in  the  battle  to-day, 
and  I  was  looking  for  him  when  I  came  upon  you." 

"  And  you  gave  up  looking  for  your  own  brother  to 
take  care  of  me  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  ;  what  else  could  I  have,  done,  when 
you  lay  before  me  with  your  life  running  away, 
rapidly  ?  I  could  not  pass  on  and  leave  you  :  and  I 
can  hope  that  some  one  has  been  led  to  aid  my 
brother,  if  he  has  needed  assistance,  as  I  have  helped 
you." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness  in  saving  my 
life,"  answered  Dean,  with  emotion. 

"  It  is  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  that  I  have  been  of 
service  to  you,"  remarked  the  other.  I  never  could 
have  been  happy  again,  for  one  moment,  had  I  left 
you  without  knowing  that  you  had  been  cared  for." 

"Our  homes  are   far  apart,  I  may  never  see  you 


BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND.  201 

again,  even  if  we  both  survive  this  war  ;  yet  I  shall 

hope  to  meet  you  again,  although  not  even  your  name 
is  known  to  me  ;  but  you  must  tell  me  to  whom  I  am 
so  deeply  indebted  before  we  part." 

"My  name  is  Andrew  ;  still,  I  am  not  related  to  our 
Governor,"  said  the  soldier,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  Dean.  "  Andrew  is  the 
name  of  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts  ;  but  I  had 
forgotten  it,  until  you  spoke  as  you  did  about  the 
name  ;  however,  it  isn't  a  bad  name  anywhere,  that 
I  know,  and  I  am  very  sure  it  will  always  sound  musi- 
cal in  my  ears,  associated  as  it  will  ever  be  with 
your  kindness  towards  me.  I  shall  look  with  interest 
to  every  source  from  which  I  may  be  likely  tot  learn 
if  anything  befalls  you." 

"  Then  you  must  know  that  my  first  name  is  Joseph, 
and  I  have  a  middle  name  that  commences  with  W. 
But  I  must  hasten  away,  so  good  by." 

These  two  acquaintances  of  a  few  hours  shook  hands 
heartily,  and  parted  with  a  feeling  of  mutual  regret. 

"Joseph  W.  Andrew,"  said  Sergeant  Dean,  men- 
tally, after  his  preserver  had  left  the  house.  "  I  need 
make  no  effort  to  remember  that  name,  much  as  I  am 
prone  to  forget  the  names  of  most  of  the  people  I  meet 
with.  My  own  existence  is  an  ever-present  memento 
of  this  man.  I  wish  all  the  world  was  like  him,  for 
I  know  he  must  be  a  good  citizen,  because  he  seems  to 
act  from  principle.  I  hope  he  will  live  a  long  life,  for 
it  seems  hard  to  have  good  men  taken  away,  when 
there  are  so  few  of  them." 

Yes,  Dean,  it  does  look  dark  when  the  good  are 
removed  from  earth  at  any  time,  but  especially  at  a 
time  like  this,  when  the  land  mourns  for  reason  of  the 


202  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

wickedness  of  many.  Yet  some  have  been  taken  from 
our  army  whom  we  felt  we  could  not  spare  ;  but  we 
must  remember  that  we  see  only  in  part,  now  ;  yet, 
1  what  we  know  not  now  we  shall  know  hereafter.7 

Dean  was  not  long  confined  with  his  wound,  but 
was  soon  able  to  return  to  his  old  quarters  with  his 
regiment,  and  when  he  again  saw  Raymond,  he  related, 
with  moistened  eyes,  the  incidents  we  have  already 
given  our  readers. 

"  Philips,"  said  he,  after  stating  what  had  befallen 
him,  "  you  know  that  conversation  we  had  while  on 
our  way  to  the  field,  after  I  was  shot.  I  had  always 
b/een  such  a  lucky  dog,  that  I  did  n't  believe  those 
thundering  bullets  would  strike  me.  But  when  I  laid 
bleeding  to  death,  as  I  feared,  I  wished  I  was  a  Chris- 
tian. I  confess  a  man  does  need  something  more  than  I 
have,  to  support  his  soul  when  he  sees  death  ap- 
proaching." 

"  Accept,  then,  the  support  of  the  gospel,  my 
friend.  It  is  yours,  if  you  will  only  give  it  your  ac- 
ceptance.     Have  you  a  Bible  ?  " 

"  Yes,  one  that  my  sister  gave  me,  years  ago." 

"  Read  it,  then,  Sergeant ;  it  will  show  you  the  way 
to  happiness. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  203 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

"  One  man  lias  one  way  of  talking,  and  another  man  has  another." 

"  I  reckon  this  always,  that  a  man  is  never  undone  till  he  be  hanged." 

We  will  now  follow  the  fortunes  of  some  of  our 
other  friends  for  a  time,  as  doubtless  the  reader  will 
like  to  know  what  has  befallen  Frederic  Sedgwick  and 
his  little  interesting  family  during  the  months  that 
have  passed  since  he  left  the  capital  and  went  again 
forth  to  battle.  It  was  in  the  winter  of  1863  ;  great 
changes  had  been  made  in  our  army  since  the  time 
when  it  was  first  called  to  assemble  for  the  defence  of 
our  capital,  not  two  years  before.  Many  officers  had 
been  called  to  leave  the  men  to  whom  they  had  become 
attached,  and  lead  those  to  whom  they  were  strangers 
in  person,  in  military  duties. 

Frederic  Sedgwick  had  been  ordered  to  a  division 
of  the  Western  army,  quartered  not  far  from  Holly 
Springs.  He  was  acting  as  Provost  Marshal,  when 
he  was  laid  upon  a  bed  of  sickness.  He  had  been  at- 
tacked with  a  fever,  which  raged  with  violence  for  a 
fortnight ;  at  the  end  of  that  time,  the  enemy  attacked 
Holly  Springs.  It  will  be  remembered  by  those  famil- 
iar with  the  history  of  this  war,  that  the  Union  forces 
felt  obliged  to  surrender  to  the  Southrons  at  that 
point,  and  soon  the  trying  intelligence  reached  Fred- 
eric that  himself,  with  the  regiment  to  which  he  be- 


204  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

longed,  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Rebels.  He  soon  was 
apprised  of  the  fact  that  he  was  expected  to  go  before 
the  Rebel  commander  to  be  paroled. 

"  How  can  I  mount  a  horse  ?  "  said  he  to  one  of  his 
own  men. 

"  0,  we  will  help  you,  Colonel." 

They  did  help  him ;  and  by  the  aid  of  two  kind 
friends,  he  was  enabled  to  get  upon  his  horse's  back, 
feeling  very  faint,  yet  kept  from  sinking  by  the  excite- 
ment attending  his  situation.  Having  passed  through 
what,  to  him,  was  a  most  severe  ordeal,  he  was,  with 
all  of  his  regiment  who  were  not  killed,  sent  to  the 
parole  quarters,  a  few  miles  distant  from  Holly 
Springs.  Upon  arriving  at  the  place,  he  found  that 
he  was  to  be  quartered  in  a  mansion  house,  the  ap- 
pearance of  which  was  rather  imposing.  His  official 
position  procured  for  him  some  consideration,  for  he 
had  been  promoted  to  the  office  of  Colonel,  sometime 
previous  to  his  being  ordered  to  the  post  he  had  re- 
cently occupied. 

A  lady  was  looking  out  of  the  window  as  Frederic 
rode  up  to  the  door.  "What  a  death-like  counte- 
nance that  man  has,"  exclaimed  she  to  some  person 
near  by,  and  then  she  hastened  to  meet  Frederic,  as  he 
was  assisted  to  enter  the  hall. 

"  You  are  very  sick,"  said  she  to  Frederic.  "  Assist 
him  to  lie  down  upon  this  lounge,"  continued  the 
lady,  addressing  those  who  were  supporting  him. 
Her  orders  were  obeyed,  and  she  quickly  ordered  a 
reviving  cordial  to  be  administered  to  the  patient,  and 
stood  by,  until  Frederic  had  swallowed  it,  and  seemed 
somewhat  refreshed  by  its  influence.  She  then  told 
one  of  the  officers  who  had  the  care  of  these  prisoners, 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  205 

that  they  had  acted  without  any  show  of  mercy  in 
bringing  that  suffering  man  from  his  sick-bed. 

"But  he's  a  Yankee  prisoner,  madam,  and  must 
accept  whatever  falls  to  his  lot,  in  the  chances  of 
war." 

"  But  has  humanity  no  claims  upon  men  who  are 
engaged  in  war  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  we  mean  to  treat  our  prisoners  as 
well  as  we  can ;  we  have  not  been  unkind  to  this  cap- 
tured officer.  It  is  no  fault  of  ours,  that  we  found  him 
on  a  sick-bed." 

"  But  it  was  wrong  to  make  him  mount  a  horse  and 
ride  from  Holly  Springs.  I  imagine  you  would  n't 
any  of  you  like  to  be  treated  as  you  have  treated 
him." 

"  All  the  Southern  ladies  don't  feel  so  much  for  Yan- 
kee prisoners  as  you  do  for  this  one,  madam." 

"If  they  don't  they  ought  to.  I  feel  towards  the 
enemy's  men  who  are  captured,  as  I  wish  to  have  them 
feel  towards  our  boys  when  they  fall  into  their  power. 
I  have  always  felt  so,  and  I  am  determined  to  treat 
our  prisoners  of  war  as  I  should  like  to  have  my  son 
treated,  were  he  to  become  a  prisoner." 

"  That  may  be  a  good  rule,  madam,  yet  I  can't  see 
how  we  can  make  it  work,  as  we  are  situated." 

"  It  ought  to  be  made  to  work,  as  you  say  ;  for  it 
is  the  golden  rule,  given  us  by  our  Saviour." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  man  addressed.  "I  had 
about  forgotten  that  it  was  in  the  Bible,  though  I  have 
read  it  no  doubt,  but  not  lately." 

If  the  lady  of  this  Southern  mansion  was  surprised 
that  this  Rebel  officer  was  not  familiar  with  the  Scrip- 
tures, we  are  not.  This  lady,  whom  we  shall  desig- 
18 


206  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

nate  as  Mrs.  Palmer,  strictly  observed  the  letter  of 
the  golden  rule,  in  her  conduct  towards  Frederic. 
She  had  him  placed  in  a  bed,  and  saw  that  he  was  at- 
tended faithfully  by  her  servants.  These,  however, 
needed  no  second  bidding  to  move  them  to  wait  upon 
the  Yankee  Colonel.  They  were  glad  to  do  anything 
for  him,  and  some  were  emulous  of  the  right  and  priv- 
ilege of  ministering  to  his  necessities. 

"How  pale  that  Yankee  looks,"  said  an  inmate  of 
the  house,  a  day  or  two  after  Frederic  arrived,  to 
Mrs.  Palmer.  It  would  n't  be  strange  if  he  should 
die  here.  Do  you  know  who  his  friends  are,  and 
where  they  live  ?  " 

"I  haven't  asked  him  yet,"  responded  the  other; 
"  but  I  should  like  to  know,  so  that  in  case  he  should 
die,  I  might  write  to  his  wife  or  mother,  sometime. 
A  brother  officer  would  probably  write  and  inform 
them  of  his  fate  ;  but  if  anything  should  ever  happen 
to  my  son  under  like  circumstances,  I  should  feel  that 
a  woman  could  tell  me  particulars,  that  a  man  would 
overlook  or  forget." 

Mrs.  Palmer  went,  immediately  after  this  conversa- 
tion had  taken  place,  to  the  room  of  her  patient.  His 
attendant  informed  her  that  he  was  sleeping,  so  she 
approached  his  bed  with  noiseless  footsteps,  and  stood 
gazing  upon  him  for  some  time.  How  like  the  sleep 
that  knows  no  waking,  did  the  slumber  of  Frederic 
appear.  His  face  was  very  pallid,  and  the  long,  black 
eyelashes  that  rested  upon  it,  contrasted  strangely 
with  its  whiteness,  while  his  thick  locks  of  jet  black, 
silken  hair,  hung  carelessly  around  his  marble  fore- 
head. His  features  and  form  were  attenuated,  so  that 
he  reminded  one  of  a  skeleton  ;  and  his  hands  seemed 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  207 

to  Mrs.  Palmer  as  she  looked  at  them,  a  fit  represen- 
tation of  the  claws  of  some  large  bird. 

"Poor  man/'  said  the  kind  lady,  mentally,  "how 
I  pity  him ; "  and  while  she  looked  and  pitied,  her 
patient  opened  his  eyes.  He  seemed  some  surprised 
to  see  his  good  hostess  standing  so  near  his  couch ; 
but  the  lady  told  him  at  once  how  she  happened  to  be 
there,  and  he  thanked  her  for  the  friendly  interest  she 
manifested  in  him. 

"  I  have  thought  that  if  I  should  die  beneath  your 
roof,  I  should  like  to  have  my  friends  hear  the  partic- 
ulars, that  would  interest  them  so  deeply,  from  your 
pen.  Yet  I  have  felt  it  too  great  a  favor  to  ask  of 
you.  Yourself  and  my  dear  mother  are  widely  sep- 
arated as  regards  your  sentiments  respecting  our 
country,  still,  you  agree  in  respect  to  your  principles 
of  action  ;  for  you,  like  my  loved  parent,  seem  to  wish 
to  do  as  you  would  be  done  by,  at  least,  in  your  con- 
duct towards  me." 

"I  do  mean  to  do  by  you  as  I  would  wish  your 
mother  to  do  by  my  son,  should  she  ever  have  such  an 
opportunity  to  minister  to  his  comfort  as  has  been 
afforded  me  to  care  for  you  ;  but  you  are  talking  too 
much,  I  fear,  and  you  have  not  yet  given  me  your 
mother's  or  your  wife's  address." 

Frederic  then  gave  the  lady  the  address  of  both 
these  loved  ones,  and  mentioned  also,  some  little  cir- 
cumstances, with  which  the  reader  is  already  ac- 
quainted. "  If  you  should  ever  visit  the  North,  I 
should  love  to  think  that  you  would  go  to  the  place 
where  my  wife  and  mother  reside.  As  I  understood 
you  to  say  on  one  occasion  that  you  had  never  been 
south  of  Philadelphia,  I  wish   you  could  visit   New 


208  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

England  for  your  own  sake.  I  think  you  would  re- 
gard the  people  of  those  States  very  differently,  if  you 
knew  them  well,  from  what  you  do  probably  at 
present." 

"I  might;  yet  I  don't  expect  ever  to  go  North; 
still,  should  I  ever  be  led  there  by  any  circumstances, 
I  hope  I  shall  see  your  mother,  Colonel  Sedgwick. 
But  you  don't  belong  to  or  command  a  Massachusetts 
regiment,  I  am  told." 

"I  enlisted  in  the  'Old  Bay  State,'  but  was  pro- 
moted, and  then  sent  to  this  part  of  the  country." 

"  It  appears  from  that,  that  you  have  been  pretty 
active  in  fighting  your  Southern  brethren." 

"  It  isn't  in  me  to  do  things  by  the  halves  ;  if,  in  my 
opinion,  anything  is  worth  doing  at  all,  it  ought  to  be 
done  thoroughly." 

M  I  shall  know  what  to  expect  from  you,  then,  when 
you  are  exchanged,"  said  Mrs.  Palmer,  as  she  left 
the  room  ;  then,  after  reaching  the  hall,  she  turned, 
and  bade  her  guest  '  good  day.' 

Frederic  did  not  know  but  he  had  offended  his 
hostess  ;  still,  he  was  conscious  of  being  innocent  of 
doing  so,  intentionally.  He  felt  grateful  to  her,  for 
her  kind  interference  in  his  behalf,  and  he  also  ad- 
mired her  ladylike  deportment.  He  had  felt  surprised 
at  her  kindness  to  himself,  exerted  just  at  that  juncture 
when  the  famous  proclamation  of  Jefferson  Davis,  had 
been  issued,  which  threatened  the  commissioned  offi- 
cers of  the  United  States  with  assassination,  if  they 
should  fall  into  the  power  of  the  Confederacy.  There- 
fore, this  unexpected  good  treatment  was  appreciated 
more  highly  by  Frederic,  and  he  felt  that  the  good 
hand  of  the  Lord  was  to  be  acknowledged,  in  this  un- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  209 

looked  for  help.  The  bitterest  drop  in  the  cup  of  suf- 
fering, which  this  husband,  father,  and  son,  was  now 
tasting,  was  the  thought  of  what  his  friends  at  home 
would  suffer  on  his  account. 

Frederic  well  knew  that  his  mother  and  Julia  would 
watch  carefully  for  news  from  him,  and  that  they  had 
doubtless  heard  of  his  sickness  and  subsequent  cap- 
ture. It  was  impossible  that  they  should  know  all, 
and  he  was  aware  that  they  might  conjecture  much 
more  that  was  painful  than  he  had  experienced,  dis- 
agreeable as  his  experience  had  been.  As  soon  as  he 
was  allowed  to  write  at  all,  he  wrote  a  very  few  lines 
to  his  family,  to  relieve  their  trying  suspense.  The 
care  taken  of  him,  and  of  everything  that  was  his,  by 
the  lady  of  this  aristocratic  mansion,  was  indeed  a 
boon  from  heaven. 

He  knew  that,  soon  after  his  arrival,  his  hostess  had 
given  orders  to  her  servants  to  see  that  the  sick  man's 
baggage  was  conveyed  to  a  place  of  safety  near  his 
room,  and  that  her  orders  had  been  obeyed  ;  and  he 
thought  with  pleasure  of  the  privilege  it  would  be  to 
•him,  to  speak  to  his  Northern  friends  of  the  kindness 
he  had  received  at  the  hands  of  this  secession  lady. 
Yet  a  sigh  escaped  him  when  he  reflected  that  on  one 
point  she  was  infatuated,  and  that,  strangely.  He 
prayed  that  this  might  not  be  true  of  her,  long. 
18* 


210  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

<c  Alas  !  if  we  murmur  at  things  like  these, 
That  reflection  tells  us  are  wise  decrees, 
That  the  wind  is  not  ever  a  gentle  breath, 
That  the  sun  is  often  the  bearer  of  death, 
That  the  ocean  wave  is  not  always  still, 
And  that  life  is  checkered  with  good  and  ill, 
If  we  know  't  is  well  such  chauge  should  be, 
"What  do  we  learn  from  the  things  we  see  ? 
That  an  erring  and  sinning  child  of  dust, 
Should  not  wonder  and  murmur,  —  but  hope  and  trust  ?"  — Hall. 

When  Frederic  had  recovered  so  far  as  to  be  able 
to  exercise  in  the  open  air,  he  was  told  that  he  would 
soon  be  sent  to  the  barracks  for  paroled  prisoners  at 
St.  Louis.  Would  I  could  go  to  my  home  for  a  time, 
thought  he,  yet  he  knew  that  the  journey  thither,  would 
be  too  arduous  an  undertaking  for  one  with  his  small 
amount  of  strength  to  endure,  without  injury.  So  he 
gave  up  the  thought  at  once,  and  strove  to  content 
himself  with  his  lot ;  but  as  the  time  drew  near  when 
he  must  leave  this  hospitable  mansion,  he  felt  regret 
at  leaving  a  place  where  the  bitterness  of  captivity 
and  bodily  suffering  had  been  made  endurable  by  the 
kindness  of  one,  who  was  not  only  a  stranger  but  a 
foe  to  the  cause  so  dear  to  his  heart  ;  and  the  place 
was  made  sacred  by  the  thought,  that  Israel's  God 
had  cared  for  him  there.  It  was  indeed  a  fit  place  to 
set  up  a  waymark,  to  point  out  the  power  that  had  led 
him  on  thus  far. 

Frederic  had  conversed  but  little  with  his  hostess, 
since  that  day  on  which  she  watched  him  when  sleep- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  211 

ing ;  but  on  the  day  preceding  the  one  on  which  he 
was  to  set  out  for  his  new  quarters,  she  met  him  in  the 
hall,  and  invited  him  to  take  a  seat  in  her  parlor,  say- 
ing, "  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little,  before  you  leave 

US. 

"I  shall  be  .glad  to  oblige  you,  madam/7  replied 
Frederic,  as  he  accepted  her  invitation,  and  sat  down 
upon  a  sofa,  near  which  Mrs.  Palmer  had  seated  her- 
self. 

"  You  remember,  I  suppose,"  remarked  the  lady, 
"  what  you  said  about  doing  what  you  were  called  to 
do,  thoroughly,  when  we  conversed  together,  some- 
time since." 

"I  do  recollect  expressing  myself  in  that  way  to 
you,  and  I  feared  afterwards,  that  you  was  offended 
at  what  I  said,  replied  Frederic;  "but  I  hope,"  he 
added,  that  you  was  not." 

"  I  was  not ;  yet  that  remark  of  yours  did  not  suit 
me  ;  at  least,  it  was  what  I  could  n't  be  pleased  with. 
Are  you  a  fair  specimen  of  the  officers  in  the  United 
States  service  ?  " 

■Frederic  smiled  at  this  question,  and  responded  to 
it,  by  saying  he  hardly  knew  how  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion. "  I  believe  that  there  are  better  officers,  who 
are  better  men,  too,  than  I  am,  in  the  Union  service. 
Perhaps  the  average  number  are  not  all  as  conscien- 
tious as  we  could  wish  them.  Some,  I  fear,  have 
little  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes  ;  I  hate  to  have 
such  go  forth  to  battle." 

"  Our  side  do  not  fear  this  last-named  class,  terri- 
bly as  they  have  at  times  fought,  as  they  do  such  men 
as  General  Mitchel,  Commodore  Foote,  and  others, 
who  fight  from  principle." 


212  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"Right  is  might,  and  a  sense  of  right  in  what  we 
arc  doing,  strengthens  us  both  to  do  and  bear/'  said 
Frederic. 

Alter  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Palmer  said  : 
"I  am  very  glad  that  I  have  made  your  acquaintance, 
Colonel  Sedgwick.  I  have  a  better  opinion  of  New 
England  people  now,  than  I  had  before  you  came 
here." 

"Was  brought  hero,  you  mean ;  it  can  hardly  be 
said  I  came." 

"Well,  you  got  here  somehow,  you  know ;  and  I 
am  not  sorry  that  I  have  had  an  opportunity  to  show 
you  that  even  an  enemy  can  befriend  you." 

"  I  assure  you,  my  noble  hostess,  that  I  appreciate 
the  favors  you  have  shown  me,  most  highly,  coming 
from  such  a  source." 

"  What  did  you  expect,  Colonel,  from  the  mistress 
of  this  house,  when  you  came  to  it  in  such  a  state  of 
extreme  weakness." 

"  Indifference,  at  the  best.  Pardon  me,  madam,  for 
saying  this,  but  you  certainly  had  a  right  to  expect  a 
truthful  answer  to  your  question." 

"  I  like  your  candor,  yet  I  am  sorry  you  should  have 
received  an  impression  that  Southern  females  were 
devoid  of  compassion.  I  hope  I  am  not  to  be  re- 
garded by  you  as  an  exception,  yet  fear  it  will  be  so." 

"  I  hope  that  there  are  many  ladies  to  be  found  at  the 
South,  who  are  governed  by  motives  such  as  influence 
you,  madam,  and  I  may  become  acquainted  with  more 
ladies  like  yourself;  yet,  thus  far,  I  haven't  met  with 
a  single  secesh  lady,  who  has  treated  me  with  com- 
mon civility,  excepting  yourself,  Mrs.  Palmer.  I  re- 
gret that  this  is  true,  yet  it  is  so,  nevertheless." 


DBSSIB   A\D    RAYMOND.  21  .'5 

"I  regret  if  too,  Colonel  Sedgwick,  much  as  I  have 
boon  prejudiced  against  the  Yankees.  I  have  ever 
felt  Hiii  every  Southern  woman  should  respect  her- 
soir  loo  much  (o  stoop  («>  the  level  of  such  females  as 
use  coarse,  vulgar  epithets,  when  conversing- either 
with  or  about  the  opposing  party." 

"  I  agree  with  yon  fully,  and  I  feel  quite  ashamed 
of  women  when  they  forget  what  is  din;  mankind  from 
their  sex,  which  should  be  the  gentler  one,  as  it  is 
called.  I  have  seen  Northern  women,  as  well  as 
Southern  females,  for  whom  1  have  blushed,  when  I 
have  been  obliged  to  Listen  to  their  vehement  expres- 
sions, in  denouncing  what  they  dislike  or  think  not 
right." 

"  I  suppose  it,  would  he  useless  for  me  to  attempt  to 
persuade  you  to  adopt  my  mode  of  reasoning-  in  re- 
gard to  things  iii  the'  country,  which  has,  until  of  late, 
been  called  the  United  States." 

.Mis.  Palmer  said  this  with  much  earnestness;  and 
Frederic,  spoke  as  earnestly  when    he  said  — 

"  It  would  be  entirely  so,  my  kind  hostess;  I  should 
not  dare  thins  as  you  do,  if  I  could.'7 

"  And  why  not?  " 

"Because  1   should  ('car  the  judgments  of  Heaven, 
i  asi  le  or  overlook  the  teachings  of  the  Bible, 

as  I  should  ho  forced  to  in  thai  case.'7 

"  Do  you  understand  the  Bible,  sir  ? ,7 
"  I  think  I  do  its  important  precepts  ;  they  are  so 
plain  thai  'a  wayfaring  man  though  a  fool,  need  QOt 

err  therein.7      jlave    you    studied    the    pages  of  God's 
holy  Word,  thoroughly,  my  dear  madam  I 

"I  cannot,  say  that,  I  have;  I  am  not  as  fond  of 
reading  at  all,   as   many  are;    but    I  have   read    my 


214  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

Bible  many  times,  because  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to 
do  so." 

'•  Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Palmer,  if  I  assert  what  may  seem 
to  you  fabulous,  but  to  my  miud  it  is  a  truth  as  clear  as 
noonday,  that  neglect  of  God's  Holy  Word  has  been  the 
means  of  bringing  upon  our  once  fair  land  this  fratri- 
cidal war.  The  golden  rule  has  been  forgotten  all 
over  the  country,  both  South  and  North.  Had  not 
this  been  true,  we  should  be  to-day  a  happy,  united 
nation  of  freemen.  Had  not  the  sentiments  of  our 
dear  old  constitution  been  trampled  under  the  feet  of 
wicked  men  so  recklessly,  things  would  have  been 
very  different  with  us  now.  We  are  nominally  a 
Christian  nation,  yet  the  majority  of  the  citizens  of  this 
whole  continent  are  unchristian  in  their  practice,  and 
fail  to  acknowledge  God,  even  as  a  moral  governor, 
much  less  a  sovereign  Father." 

"But  still,  you  think  you  Northerners  ought  to 
fight." 

'•'  True,  we  do  feel  that  we  cannot  help  it.  "We  did 
not  wish  to  fight  our  brethren  at  all." 

"  But  our  army  has  beat  you  so  many  times,  that  I 
should  think  you  would  get  discouraged." 

"  We  don't  feel  that  we  have  been  beaten  very 
sorely,  for  we  have  been  learning  by  experience  so 
that  we  shall  be  better  disciplined  warriors,  for  each 
rebuff  we  meet." 

"Don't  you  believe  you  will  have  to  give  up, 
Colonel  ?  " 

"I do  not,  and  shall  be  slow  to  believe  so,  ever; 
and  most  ardently  do  I  hope  that  it  will  never  be." 

"Well,  if  you  and  I  should  live  seven  years,  and 
should  at  the  end  of  that  time  meet  each  other  again, 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  215 

I  believe  you  will  be  obliged  to  confess  to  me  then, 
tint  you  are  now  laboring  under  a  strong  delusion  in 
supposing  that  the  chivalric  South  will  ever  be  con- 
quered by  military  prowess.  You  will  learn,  by  sad 
experience,  that  the  Confederacy  is  invincible." 

"  What  would  you  think  if  some  of  your  strongholds 
should  fall  into  our  hands  during  the  year  1863  ?  For 
instance,  Vicksburg  or  Port  Hudson  ;  possibly  both 
may  be  ours  before  next  September. 

"  Impossible,  that  such  a  disaster  should  ever  befall 
us ;  you  have  done  all  you  can  in  Tennessee ;  your 
army,  I  mean.  Then  look  at  your  '  army  of  the  Poto- 
mac.' See  how  easily  General  Jackson  can  route  your 
forces ;  one  would  think  Abe  Lincoln  would  have 
more  sense,  than  to  keep  his  vandals  on  our  soil.  But 
I  forbear,  as  you  are  my  guest,  and  have  not  evinced 
any  bitterness  of  spirit  towards  my  party,  to  express 
my  feelings  towards  your  side,  in  this  abolition  contest, 
got  up  by  fanatics." 

"  I  have  expressed  the  feelings  I  cherish  habitually 
towards  the  South,  since  I  have  been  under  your  roof, 
my  kind  hostess.  I  hate  no  one  ;  I  feel  no  bitterness 
towards  a  being  God  has  made,  and  I  repudiate  the 
abominable  sentiment  that  this  war  was  inaugurated 
by  the  North.  The  people  of  the  Northern  States 
were  driven  to  arms  while  the  chivalry  of  the  South 
were  eager  for  it.  I  know  that  if  the  North  had  wished 
for  war  they  could  have  done  the  same  when  Pres- 
ident Buchanan  was  put  into  office,  as  the  people  of 
the  South  did,  when  Mr.  Lincoln  was  elected.  There 
was  much  heartburning  felt,  I  assure  you,  when  it  was 
found  that  the  man  who  was  thought  unfit  to  discharge 


216  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

the  duties  devolving  upon  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  our 
nation,  by  many  thousands  of  the  citizens  of  our  coun- 
try, was  to  be  at  the  head  of  affairs  for  four  years. 
Many  felt  it  an  indignity  too  great  to  be  borne  ;  still, 
they  listened  to  the  dictates  of  reason,  and  remem- 
bered the  counsel  of  our  national  father,  and  thus 
their  ire  ceased  to  burn  hotly,  and  they  contented 
themselves  by  resolving  to  mend  matters  at  the  ballot- 
box,  the  next  time  they  should  go  there  to  choose  a 
President.  Now  suppose  the  South  had  pursued  this 
course,  and  had  borne  what  they  considered  griev- 
ances, as  we  mudsills,  as  you  term  us,  did,  where 
would  have  been  the  fighting,  the  terrible  loss  of  life, 
the  widows  and  orphans  ;  the  weeping  mothers  and 
sisters  that  now  are  found  all  over  our  land  ?  All 
this,  and  legions  of  woe  beside,  would  have  been  un- 
known to  us  as  a  nation." 

"  You  think  the  South  responsible,  then,  for  all  the 
suffering  caused  by  this  war." 

"  How  can  I  think  otherwise  ?  and  pardon  me,  if  I 
say  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  one  not  blinded 
by  prejudice,  to  think  otherwise." 

"  I  appreciate  your  compliment,  certainly." 

"  And  my  candor,  too,  I  hope." 

"Yes;"'  and  Mrs.  Palmer  smiled  as  she  uttered 
this  "  yes."  "  Somehow  I  cant  get  angry  as  I  ought, 
at  what    you   say :    but   I   would  n't    bear  it    from 

every "  she  hesitated,  and  Frederic  said  quickly, 

Yankee.  "  That  is  not  just  what  I  was  going  to  say, 
but  that  is  a  name  I  do  not  like,  however ;  yet  I 
meant  to  call  the  enemies  of  the  Confederacy  by  a 
more  disgraceful  name." 


BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND.  217 

Frederic  wished  to  say,  very  much,  "  no  name  you 
could  call  us,  would  disgrace  us,"  but  he  remembered 
he  was  conversing  with  a  woman,  and  forbore. 

"Let  us  part  in  kindness,  madam,"  said  he  ;  "  our 
next  meeting  may  be  on  that  great  day  — 

•  For  which  all  other  days  were  made.'  " 

"  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again  on  earth  ;  I  want  you 
to  tell  me,  some  years  hence,  what  you  think  about 
our  losing  Vicksburg,  Port  Hudson,  and  giving  up  to 
our  opponents  ;  and  I  shall  wish  you  to  be  as  candid 
then,  as  you  are  now." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  talk  with  you  then,  too,"  said 
her  guest  with  a  smile. 

Then,  with  many  thanks  for  her  kindness  to  him,  he 
took  his   leave  of  her,   greatly  regretting   that   the 
judgment  of  one  so  kind-hearted  should  be  so  sadly 
perverted  from  right. 
19 


218  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  We,  ourselves,  can  never  tell  what  is  for  our  good." 

Probably  not  one  of  the  large  family  of  human  be- 
ings God  has  created,  would  ever  think  of  a  state 
of  captivity  as  being  anything  but  terrible.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  abhorrent  to  a  freeman,  than  the 
thought  of  being  deprived  of  liberty.  To  become  a 
prisoner  of  war  is  humiliating,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  is  aggravating,  because  one  is  under  the  control, 
and  at  the  mercy,  of  foes  ;  yet  life  in  a  prison  has,  to 
some,  been  made  tolerable,  and  the  result  of  imprison- 
ment has  sometimes  been  anything  but  grievous. 

Frederic  Sedgwick  was  one  who  felt  keenly  all  the 
ills  of  life.  He  was  highly  susceptible  of  both  jpy 
and  sorrow.  He,  too,  was  possessed  of  large  sympa- 
thies, and  most  keenly  felt  the  woes  of  his  fellow  be- 
ings. He  found  himself  on  the  way  to  the  quarters 
for  paroled  prisoners,  soon  after  his  last  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Palmer,  and,  while  on  that  journey,  had  a 
mighty  conflict  with  his  own  feelings,  ere  he  could 
submit  cheerfully  to  the  idea  of  spending  months  in  a 
monotonous  state  of  waiting.  His  temperament  was 
ardent,  and  his  habits  so  active,  that  the  state  of  use- 
fulness which  he  was  anticipating,  looked  dismal,  in- 
deed, and  he  felt  that  no  selfish  motive  could  recon- 
cile him  to  it.  "  To  face  death  upon  the  battle-field, " 
thought  he,  "would  be  pleasure,  compared  with  this  lin- 
gering pain  caused  by  having  nothing  to  do.     Lord, 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  219 

help  me,"  he  in  his  inmost  spirit  cried  ;  and  he  felt 
that  the  cry  was  heard,  for  his  spirit  was  at  once 
cheered  by  the  remembrance  of  those  tender  words  of 
Holy  Writ,  "Fear  not,  I  am  with  thee  ;  I  will  never 
leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee  ;  "  and  his  desponding  heart 
thrilled  at  the  thought  that  his  Saviour  would  go  with 
him,  and  be  with  him. 

"  I  can,"  said  he  mentally  — 


"  do  all  things,  and  can  bear 

All  suffering,  if  my  Lord  be  there." 

And  Frederic,  during  his  (Confinement,  realized  that 
he  was  not  alone,  but  that  he  was  supported  by  a 
strength  not  his  own. 

"If  I  may  not  do  what  I  would,  I  can  do  some- 
thing," thought  he  ;  and  he  did  find  employment  that 
beguiled  many  an  hour  of  its  gloom.  Very  many  of 
his  fellow-prisoners  were  destitute  of  the  support  by 
which  he  was  upheld.  Some,  to  whom  he  had  access, 
were  sick  or  wounded,  and  were  grateful  for  his  sym- 
pathy and  kind  expressions,  when  he  could  offer  them 
nothing  more. 

He  had  not  long  been  at  his  new  quarters,  before 
his  eyes  were  blest  with  the  sight  of  his  wife  and  little 
ones.  How  his  heart  leaped  for  joy  when  he  beheld 
Julia  and  her  children ;  she  had  not  apprised  him  of 
her  coming,  for  she  would  love  to  give  him,  she  said, 
an  agreeable  surprise. 

"  But  I  have  come  to  stay  in  this  city  while  you 
arc  confined  here." 

She  made  this  remark  with  some  emphasis,  in  reply 
to  Frederic,  who  told  her  he  was  very  glad  to  have 


220  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

the  privilege  of  seeing  herself  and  the  children,  even 
for  a  little  while. 

"  I  can  sacrifice  home  comforts  as  easily  as  you  can, 
my  husband,  and  shall  contrive  to  feel  at  home,  in  a 
boarding-house,  until  you  are  exchanged.  I  think 
these  quarters  for  paroled  prisoners  are  good  institu- 
tions„  compared  with  some  other  places  where  our 
prisoners  are  kept.  I  felt  happy  when  I  knew  that  I 
could  come  to  this  city  and  be  near  you." 

Frederic  thanked  his  wife  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  on 
her  arrival,  but  he  felt  that  he  had  greater  reason  to 
be  thankful,  not  only  to  her,  but  to  God,  as  the  weeks 
passed  away,  and  he  remained  a  prisoner.  He  was 
not  idle,  and  as  he  was  a  lawyer  by  profession,  his 
services  were  valuable  many  times  at  court  martials 
that  were  held  in  the  vicinity  of  the  place  where  he 
was.  Incidents  of  interest  were  daily  occurring  around 
him  that  were  varied  in  character,  and  afforded  oppor- 
tunities for  showing  kindness  to  those  who  were  less 
favored  than  himself. 

The  life  here  was  altogether  a  new  chapter  in  the 
history  of  Julia,  or  Mrs.  Sedgwick,  as  she  was  called 
continually,  in  her  temporary  home.  She  marvelled 
at  the  strangeness  of  her  surroundings,  while  she 
made  herself  contented  with  her  lot,  by  striving  to  do 
all  in  her  power  to  make  those  around  her  as  happy  as 
possible.  Frederic  brought  to  her  notice  many  cases 
of  sorrow  and  want,  that  gave  her  occupation  for  both 
time  and  thought. 

One  of  these  cases  was  that  of  a  woman  who  had 
left  her  home  in  the  South,  because  she  could  not  live 
in  her  own  snug  little  cottage  in  Texas,  for  reason  of 
her  attachment  to  the  dear  old  stars  and  stripes.     This 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  221 

was  a  case  that  deeply  excited  the  sympathy  and  ad- 
miration of  both  Colonel  Sedgwick  and  his  wife.  This 
woman  had  two  young  children  with  her,  whom  she 
had  taken  from  the  home  of  their  infancy,  that  was  now 
made  by  treasonable  men  a  dangerous  place  to  shelter 
them.  So  this  proud  and  heroic  mother  took  them  in 
the  darkness*  of  night,  and  led  or  bore  them  beyond 
the  terrible  surveillance  of  those  who  ought  to  have 
guarded  their  helplessness  with  the  tenderest  care. 

The  husband  of  this  woman,  whom  we  will  know  as 
Mrs.  Westcott,  was  a  soldier  in  the  Southern  army. 
Long  and  earnestly  did  she  plead  with  him  to  forbear, 
when  first  he  proposed  selling  himself  to  traitors  ;  for 
she  felt  that  it  was  nothing  but  fear  of  losing  his 
property,  which  made  him  dare  think  of  using  his 
strong  right  arm  against  the  Government,  under  the 
auspices  of  which  he  had  always  been  greatly  blest. 

"  I  must  study  my  own  interest,  if  you  dont,"  was 
the  reply  he  made  to  the  pleadings  of  his  agonized 
companion. 

"  I  can't  sacrifice  all  I  have  in  the  world,  and  my 
life  too,  just  to  keep  along  in  the  old  way  of  thinking. 
You  '11  find  you  '11  have  to  change  your  way  of 
talking,  or  you  '11  get  into  trouble  ;  in  short,  you  've 
got  to  do  it,  to  please  me." 

"  I  will  do  anything  but  sin  wilfully,  to  gratify  you, 
my  husband,  but  that  I  dare  not  be  guilty  of,  if  I 
wished  to  ;  and  I  do  not  wish  to  turn  against  the 
Union  cause,  and,  God  helping  me,  I  will  sacrifice  the 
last  drop  of  my  blood,  before  I  will  prove  traitorous 
to  the  Government  I  have  always  loved  and  felt 
proud  of." 

"Ha!  I   didn't  know  you  could    make  so   fine  a 
19* 


222  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

speech  ;  but  I  caution  you  against  talking  in  that 
way  where  you  will  be  heard  by  our  neighbors.  You 
might  get  into  trouble  by  your  speechifying. " 

"Is  it  possible  that  this  is  William  Westcott,  my 
husband,  who  is  talking  thus  !  0,  why  did  I  ever  live 
to  see  this  day  !  " 

"  0,  you  talk  like  a  fool,  Jennie  ;  you  can't  suppose 
I  would  run  the  risk  of  having  my  property  confiscated, 
and  having  a  halter  around  my  neck  too  tight  for  com- 
fort, when  I  can  prevent  it,  do  you  ?  If  I  don't  enlist 
now,  I  shall  be  conscripted  very  soon,  so  I  had  better 
go  now,  and  save  myself  some  disagreeable  conse- 
quences growing  out  of  conscription." 

"  But,  William,  why  not  take  our  children,  and  go 
to  the  North  ?  I  have  some  friends  in  Conneticut,  to 
whom  we  can  go." 

"  What  would  you  do  with  our  home,  in  such  a 
case  ?  It  would. n't  be  easy  to  transport  either  the 
house,  or  the  ground  on  which  it  stands." 

"  Of  course,  I  should  expect  to  give  up  our  dear  cot- 
tage home,  and  many  other  things  that  are  very  dear 
to  me  ;  but  I  should  rather  do  so,  than  live  here  as 
things  are  now." 

"  You  are  nothing  but  a  woman,  and  don't  know 
anything  about  public  affairs  :  you  ought  to  put  confi- 
dence in  the  leaders  of  the  Confederate  Government, 
and  not  hold  on  to  your  old-fashioned  partiality  for  the 
flag  and  Government  of  the  United  States.  This  se- 
cession movement  has  commenced  a  new  era  in  the 
history  of  this  country." 

"  I  believe  your  last  statement,  but  what  you  affirm 
in  regard  to  my  ignorance,  and  in  respect  to  the  duty  I 
owe  Jefferson  Davis  &  Co.  I  must  dissent  from.     I  will 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  22o 

• 
uot  sell  my  integrity,  for  tho»  sake  of  preserving  even 
my  own  loved  home,  and  I  feel  ashamed  that  you,  my 
husband,  can  think  of  doing  it." 

"  If  you  persist  in  opposing  me  in  this  way,  Jennie, 
you  will  make  a  hard  bed  for  yourself  to  lie  in,  whether 
you  believe  so  or  not.  I  advise  you  to  try  and  com- 
promise matters  a  little  with  our  acquaintances  and 
friends,  before  I  go  away,  for  you  will  need  their  sym- 
pathy when  I  am  gone.7' 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  can  suppose  for  a  moment 
that  I  will  be  governed  by  such  motives  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  ;  and  you  will  find,  to  your  cost,  that 
you  cannot  breast  public  opinion  without  being  a 
loser  ;  but,  Jennie,  you  can  easily  pursue  a  noncom- 
mittal course." 

"  Not  if  I  don't  wish  to.  If  I  am  asked  again,  as  I 
have  often  been,  if  I  favor  the  old  Union,  I  shall  answer 
yes.  I  shall  gain  nothing  by  wicked  evasions,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  should  do  violence  to  my  own  conscience. 
No,  I  shall  never  allow  a  Rebel  flag  to  wave  over  my 
head,  when  you  are  away.  The  old  rag  shall  be  hauled 
down,  speedily,  when  I  am  chief  manager  here." 

"  You  talk  like  a  crazy  woman." 

This  was  all  that  this  deluded  man  said  in  reply  to 
the  frank  avowal  his  wife  had  made  in  regard  to  her 
determination.  Many  such  conversations  as  the  one 
we  have  given  was  had  by  this  husband  and  wife,  ere 
the  former  went  forth  to  fight  against  his  early  home, 
and  the  friends  of  his  childhood  and  youth.  Mr.  Wes- 
cott  was  a  native  of  New  York  State,  and  his  wife  was 
born  in  Connecticut.  He  had  emigrated  to  the  border 
of  Texas  a  few  years  previous  to  1860,  and  had  been 
prospered  in  his  industrial  undertakings  greatly,  so 
that  he  had  acquired  quite  a  little  fortune. 


224  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

When  our  disturbances  commenced,  no  man  regretted 
the  course  the  South  pursued  more  than  this  man,  for 
he  saw  clearly  that  nothing  but  unholy  ambition  urged 
men  forward  in  their  rash  course.  When  South  Car- 
olina took  herself,  in  form,  out  of  the  Union,  he  could 
not  believe  the  mania  of  secession  would  spread  as  it 
did  subsequently,  and  he  hoped  that  the  dangerous 
fever  would  not  reach  his  place.  In  this  we  need  not 
say  he  was  disappointed,  and  his  joints  smote  together, 
like  the  knees  of  one  of  old,  when  he  found  himself 
called  upon  to  take  a  decided  stand,  either  for  or 
against  this  new  movement. 

Others  might  pretend  to  be  neutral,  but  he  was  not 
allowed  to  cover,  his  opinions  with  any  such  subter- 
fuge. "  The  Union  was  well  enough  as  it  was  ;  I 
wish  it  had  been  let  alone,  but  these  politicians  have 
got  up  such  a  commotion,  a  man  must  do  what  he 
don't  really  wish  to,  to  save  his  property  and  his  neck  ; 
so  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  throw  my  lot  in  with  people 
around  me,  to  prevent  my  family  from  suffering  from 
mob  violence.  It 's  too  bad,  that  things  have  come  to 
such  a  pass,  but  it 's  no  use  for  a  man  like  me  to  hold 
against  such  odds." 

Thus  reasoned  William  Westcott,  and  in  the  same 
manner  argued  many  a  Southern  man,  not  considering 
that  every  fearful  soul,  who  thus  helped  swell  the 
tide  of  treason  that  was  deluging  the  Southern  States 
at  that  time,  might  have  set  up  a  standard  of  right, 
that  would  have  proved  an  effectual  barrier  to  the  on- 
ward rush  of  these  dark  waters,  that  have  since  sub- 
merged the  South. 

What  a  blessing  to  this  world  is  principle  ;  firm, 
moral  principle,  based  upon  a  sense  of  creature  re- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  225 

sponsibility,  to  a  benevolent,  yet  law-loving  Creator. 
Mrs.  Westcott  was  governed  by  a  high  and  holy  prin- 
ciple of  right.  She  was  left  alone  with  her  little  ones, 
on  the  departure  of  her  husband,  in  the  midst  of  ene- 
mies ;  and  enemies,  too,  who,  but  a  few  months  before, 
had  been  friends.  No  friendly  hand  was  now  extend- 
ed to  grasp  her  own/  by  any,  of  all  who  had  been 
ranked  among  the  warmest  of  her  friends.  She  was 
a  doomed  woman,  and  as  the  current  of  popular 
feeling,  in  the  vicinity  in  which  she  lived,  was 
turned  against  her,  it  was  not  safe  for  one  or  two, 
who  did  not  wholly  denounce  her,  to  befriend  her  ; 
for  they  would,  by  doing  so,  risk  their,  own  popularity. 

So  Mrs.  Westcott  went  out,  and  returned  to  her 
home,  without  being,  at  any  time,  greeted  with  a  word 
of  kindness,  or  even  a  faint  smile  of  recognition. 
Thus  her  days  were  passed  in  sadness,  and  her 
nights  in  apprehension  of  evil.  The  presence  of  her 
children  was  her  only  protection  from  violence,  she 
well  knew ;  and  she  shuddered  as  she  thought  that 
her  little  innocents  might  be  taken  from  her.  The 
terrible  outrages  she  had  witnessed,  which  had  been 
perpetrated  upon  some  of  her  neighbors,  because  they 
were  Union-loving  people,  justified  her  in  indulging 
such  apprehensions. 

Her  husband  wrote  to  her,  and  endeavored  to  per- 
suade her  to  become  a  friend  to  the  new  bogus  gov- 
ernment. If  his  property  should  suffer  in  consequence 
of  her  unwillingness  to  have  a  Confederate  flag  float 
over  the  house,  he  should  never  forgive  her.  He 
thought  she  had  acted  like  one  bereft  of  reason,  since 
the  commencement  of  this  war  ;  but  he  had  always 
thought  her  a  conscientious  Christian  until  then,  and 


226  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

hoped  she  would  prove  herself  one  again,  by  renounc- 
ing her  stubbornness.  He  was  fearful,  he  said,  that 
he  should  be  captured  by  the  Yankees,  and  then,  he 
should  not  expect  to  see  again  his  family  or  his  home. 

His  wife  wrote  a  kind  letter  in  reply  to  this  missive, 
which  had  been  received  by  her  just  as  all  her  plans 
were  matured  for  escaping  from  Rebeldom,  with  her 
children.  She  told  her  husband  that  he  had  never 
had  as  much  reason  to  believe  her  a  Christian,  as  since 
she  had  been  called  to  endure  the  bitter  trials  brought 
upon  her  by  the  secesh  movement;  and  she  felt  that 
he  would  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  assertion, 
at  some  future  day,  if  his  life  was  spared.  She  ex- 
pressed her  perfect  willingness  to  have  him  captured 
by  the  Federals,  as  she  might,  in  that  case,  hope  to 
meet  him  again  on  earth.  She  would  not  tell  him 
that  she  was  about  starting  for  the  North,  lest  some- 
thing should  prevent  her  setting  out  as  she  had 
planned,  and  some  of  her  husband's  relatives  should 
learn,  through  his  letters,  what  she  intended  to  do. 

Nobly  she  kept  her  own  counsel,  and  began  her 
perilous  journey  with  a  throbbing  heart ;  yet,  as  she 
went  on,  the  consciousness ^that  She  was  being  exiled 
from  her  own  bright  home,  for  the  sake  of  right,  sus- 
tained her  spirit,  and  she  felt  that  the  covenant  God, 
to  whom  she  had  committed  her  darlings  and  herself, 
ere  she  bade  adieu  to  her  own  dwelling,  was  about  her 
path  continually. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  227 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  Who  then  should  fear  the  face  of  man, 
When  God  hath  answered  prayer  ? 
Away,  away  from  men  and  towns, 
To  the  wild  wood  and  the  downs, 
To  the  silent  wilderness, 
Where  the  soul  need  not  repress 
Its  music,  lest  it  should  not  find 
An  echo  in  another's  mind."  —  Suelley. 

Mrs.  Westcott  had  a  light  purse  when  she  quitted 
Texas.  She  had  a  small  amount  of  gold  coin,  but  the 
most  of  her  funds  was  nothing  better  than  Confederate 
money.  She  left  her  home  in  a  light  wagon,  drawn 
by  a  mule,  and  travelled  in  this  way  for  many  miles. 
Her  journey  was  prospered  for  a  season,  but  she 
felt  greatly  discouraged  when  approaching,  as  she 
supposed,  a  bridge  that  she  could  cross  quickly,  and 
then  secure  a  resting-place,  to  find  that  the  bridge 
was  gone. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  was  the  anxious  inquiry  that 
arose  in  her  mind,  as  this  dilemma  presented  itself. 
"  It  is  of  no  use  for  me  to  sit  here  grieving  over  this 
mishap,  so  I'll  turn  about  the  old  mule  and  trot  in 
another  direction." 

She  was  not  acquainted  with  any  other  road,  and 
was  forced  to  inquire  of  a  passer  by,  after  turning 
about,  which  way  to  go.  She  asked  with  trembling, 
fearing  she  should  meet  with  rudeness  ;  for  she  had 
experienced  so  much  that  was  disagreeable,  she  be- 
came in  that  one  respect,  a  very  coward.     The  person 


228  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

that  she  first  addressed,  could  not  give  her  the  infor- 
mation she  desired,  but  she  ventured  to  inquire  at  the 
door  of  a  farmhouse,  where  she  was  met  by  a  man 
whose  pleasant  countenance  encouraged  her  to  ask 
several  questions,  in  reply  to  which  she  obtained  some 
important  information.  She  was  told  that,  had  she 
been  able  to  cross  where  she  found  the  bridge  had 
been  burnt,  she  would  have  found  herself  surrounded 
by  the  Southern   army. 

"  It  will  be  some  trouble  to  go  around  and  reach 
the  Union  lines  this  other  way,"  said  the  honest 
farmer,  when  he  suspected  from  an  exclamation  that 
escaped  her  lips,  when  she  learned  how  near  she  had 
been  to  the  enemy,  that  she  did  not  care  to  enter  the 
Rebel  lines  ;  "  but/'  he  continued,  "  if  you  are  trying 
to  get  to  the  North,  you  won't  be  troubled  to  find 
friends  that  will  do  all  they  can  to  help  you." 

The  poor  traveller  looked  earnestly  into  the  face  of 
this  man,  and  she  was  sure  she  read  sincerity  in  its 
expression. 

"lam  trying  to  get  to  the  North,"  said  she. 

"  Then  it  was  providential  for  you  that  our  bridge 
has  been  burned,  for  had  you  gone  a  short  distance 
beyond,  you  would  have  been  stopped,  and  your 
chances  then,  for  reaching  your  place  of  destination, 
would  have  been  small  indeed." 

"  Thank  heaven,  I  escaped  that  calamity,"  uttered 
Mrs.  Westcott,  with  emotion. 

"You  have  reason  to,"  responded  the  other,  "but 
come  in  and  stop  awhile  here,  to  rest  yourself;  you 
look  tired  enough ;  we  are  all  Union  people  in  this 
house,  and* we  all  know  how  to  protect  friends.  So 
come  in  and  welcome." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  229 

With  streaming  eyes  our  poor  wayfarer  accepted 
the  invitation  of  the  good  man,  for  his  wife  had 
approached  the  door,  and  become  interested  in  the 
appearance  of  the  stranger,  and  joined  her  husband 
in  extending  his  hospitality  to  herself  and  little  ones. 
Soothing  indeed  to  the  harassed  feelings  of  this 
heroic  woman  was  the  kindness  of  these  strangers. 
It  was  such  a  relief  to  be  permitted  to  speak  to  an 
individual  who  was  not  hostile  to  the  cause  so  dear  to 
her  heart,  that  the  unlooked-for  kindness  she  had  met 
here  quite  overcame  her.  She  wept  long,  ere  she 
could  command  her  feelings  so  as  to  keep  back  the 
tears  that  coursed  so  wilfully  down  her  cheeks.  Yet 
these  tear-drops  were  not  indicative  of  sorrow  ;  they 
flowed  from  a  superabundance  of  silent  joy.  Reader, 
if  you  have  never  shed  tears  like  these,  you  are  still 
a  stranger  to  one  of  the  most  ennobling  joys  of  earth. 

"I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  my  seeming  want  of 
appreciation  of  your  kindness  to  me,"  said  our  trav- 
eller, when  she  could  command  her  voiee  to  articulate, 
"  but  it  is  so  long  since  I  have  been  addressed  in 
friendly  tones,  that  I  cannot  but  weep  for  joy  as  I 
realize  your  kindness,  and  feel  that  I  am  no  longer 
among  enemies." 

"  Then  you  are  one  of  those  persecuted  for  fidelity 
to  the  old  flag,"  said  the  host.  "Well,  you  are  not 
alone  ;  many  have  been  called  to  suffer  greatly,  since 
this  reign  of  terror  began.  You  are  not  the  first  that 
has  rested  beneath  this  roof,  who  have  fled  from  the 
fanatical  violence  of  Rebels,  to  the  United  States 
Government.  Has  your  husband  suffered,  too  ?  "  asked 
the  farmer's  wife,  compassionately. 

How  our  traveller  wished  that  this  question  had  not 
•20 


230  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

been  asked  ;  yet  she  answered  it,  though  in  a  sad  tone, 
and  her  answer  was  truthfully  given. 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  other,  while  a  tear  bedewed 
her  matronly  cheek,  "  then  you  have  indeed  a  bitter 
portion  meted  out  to  you  ;  but  if  you  only  put  your 
trust  in  God,  you  need  not  fear,  even  '  though  a  host 
encamp  against  you.'  M 

How  sweet  were  those  few  words  of  pious  consola- 
tion, to  the  heart  of  her  to  whom  they  were  offered. 

"  0,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Westcott,  "  how  good  is  God, 
to  bring  me  here  ;  shall  I  ever  forget  His  mercy,  in 
this  event?  " 

"His  mercy  is  continual  and  never-ending," 
remarked  the  hostess.  You  need  n't  despair  of  yet 
seeing  your  husband  an  altered  man  ;  only  pray  for 
him,  in  submission  to  God's  will.  You  may  have  to 
wait  long  for  the  blessing,  but  it  will  come  at  last,  if 
your  faith  fails  not." 

"  I  should  have  fainted  in  despair,"  said  her  guest, 
"  ere  now,  had  I  not  been  able  to  pour  out  my  heart's 
anguish  before  the  mercy-seat." 

"  That  is  a  sure  refuge,  and  never,  since  this  world 
was  made,  has  it  been  sought  with  more  earnestness 
than  it  has  been  by  many  Christians  since  '  this  cruel 
war '  began.  If  you  have  lived  near  the  borders  of 
Texas,  you  know  more,  probably,  or  have  seen  more 
of  the  cruelty  that  has  been  practised  upon  Union- 
loving  people,  than  we  have  here  ;  though,  for  the  sake 
of  humanity,  I  hope  that  no  greater  atrocities  have 
been  committed  in  other  places  than  have  been  perpe- 
trated in  our  midst." 

"  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more  terrible  or  revolt- 
ing, than  scenes  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  witness  in 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  231 

part  in  my  Texan  home.  I  had,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  war,  a  neighbor ;  a  kindly,  good  sort  of 
man  he  was,  but  he  loved  the  Union.  No  other  charge 
was  ever  brought  against  him  but  this  ;  he  could  not 
rejoice  when  the  news  of  Sumter's  fall  reached  him, 
for  he  was  grieved  at  intelligence  so  sad  to  him.  Yet, 
because  he  could  not  sympathize  with  secession,  he 
was  forced  to  submit  to  almost  every  kind  of  indignity 
that  could  be  heaped  upon  him,  and  at  last,  having 
suffered  the  loss  of  all  his  property,  he  was  seized  by 
an  infuriated  mob,  forced  into  a  box,  and  pressed  down 
into  it  with  a  board,  which  these  demons  in  human 
shape  nailed  fast.  The  box  was  then  trundled  over 
and  over  until  it  was  near  the  river,  when  it  was 
opened,  for  it  was  their  purpose  to  drown  the  unfortu- 
nate man  if  they  found  him  alive. 

"  The  air  was  rent  with  savage  yells,  when  it  was 
discovered  that  the  spirit  of  their  victim  had  fled,  and 
only  his  bruised  corpse  was  before  them.  Alter  reek- 
ing their  unhallowed  vengeance  upon  these  inanimate 
remains,  these  deluded  victims  of  Southern  dema- 
gogues, started  again  in  pursuit  of  some  other  citizen, 
to  whom  popular  frenzy  had  denied  the  very  priv- 
ilege these  half  insane  men  professed  to  contend  that 
all  men  are  entitled  to,  by  birth.  From  that  day," 
continued  the  narrator,  "  I  felt  that,  somehow,  I  must 
get  away.  I  had  been  threatened  frequently,  before, 
with  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers,  if  I  did  not  recant,  and 
express  myself  in  favor  of  the  bogus  government.  I 
hardly  replied  at  all,  to  any  of  the  threats  uttered 
against  me,  but  I  resolved  to  leave  my  dear  home, 
that  once  was,  and  go  in  poverty,  though  not  in  dis- 
grace, to  New  England,  where   I  hope  to  find  a  rela- 


232  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

tive,  who,  if  not  rich,  can  assist  me,  through  his 
influence.  The  steps  of  my  husband,  I  hope,  may  one 
day  be  directed  to  his  family,  and  thus  may  we  be  en- 
abled to  live  happily  again,  under  the  benign  influence 
of  the  old  flag.'7 

Mrs.  Westcott  tarried  for  a  day  or  two  with  these 
good  Union  friends,  and  was  guided  by  her  host,  who 
himself  accompanied  her  a  short  distance  on  her  way. 
When  she  drew  near  the  Mississippi  River,  and  found 
that  she  would  be  obliged  to  travel  upon  a  steamer,  she 
disposed  of  her  wagon  and  mule,  and  took  passage  in 
a  boat.  In  this  way,  she  journeyed  to  the  place, 
where  Frederic  met  her.  She  was  obliged  to  travel 
by  short  stages,  for  want  of  means.  At  one  place  in 
the  southwest,  she  spent  some  weeks,  in  order  to  earn 
money  to  help  her  on  the  way.  Beg,  she  could  not, 
though  she  would  probably  have  got  a  free  passage 
through,  over  most  of  the  route,  had  her  circumstan- 
ces been  known  to  many  who  had  means  and  inclina- 
tion to  assist  persons  situated  as  she  then  was. 

Many  acts  of  kindness  she  did  receive,  and  after 
she  became  acquainted  with  Frederic  and  his  wife, 
and  experienced  their  sympathy  and  assistance,  she 
felt  that  her  cares  were  greatly  lessened,  and  her 
trials,  wellnigh  over.  They  enabled  her  to  reach  her 
friends  in  Connecticut ;  and  we  hope  the  story  of  her 
trials,  as  she  rehearses  it,  from  time  to  time,  will 
open  the  eyes  of  some  of  the  men  and  women  in  our 
land,  to  the  truth,  in  regard  to  the  atrocities  commit- 
ted by  the  enemies  of  our  Government,  upon  such  as 
have  dared  to  continue  faithful  to  the  stars  and  stripes. 
Some  we  know,  who  pretend  to  have  hearts,  profess 
themselves  skeptical  in  respect  to  Southern  barbarity, 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  233 

while  they  are  continually  seeking  for  something  that 
they  can  contrive  to  construe  into  wrongs  done  to 
their  immaculate  Southern  brethren.  Of  this  class,  we 
are  constrained  to  say,  "  0,  my  soul,  come  not  thou 
into  their  secret ;  unto  their  assembly,  mine  honor,  be 
not  thou  united." 
20* 


234  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  Do  they  not  err,  that  devise  evil  ?  " 

"  He  hath  indeed  better  bettered  expectation,  than  you  must  expect 
me  to  tell  you  how." 

We  left  our  friends  the  Murrays  somewhat  abrupt- 
ly, and  were  led  to  speak  of  incidents  in  which  others 
bore  a  part ;  but  we  expect  to  be  pardoned  by  our 
readers  if  we  do  not  come  up  to  their  standard,  be- 
cause we  have  not  promised  them  much,  as  regards 
our  ability  to  write  a  number-one  work  of  fiction.  We 
have  only  pledged  ourselves  to  give  incidents  con- 
nected with  this  terrible  civil  war,  which  appears  at 
the  present  time  likely  to  afford  many  more  circum- 
stances of  interest  to  the  generations  which  are  to  fol- 
low this  present  one  ;  therefore  we  have  contented 
ourselves  with  stating  incidents  as  they  have  been 
brought  before  our  mind. 

It  will  be  recollected  that  Mrs.  Murray  and  Clara 
were  inmates  at  the  house  of  the  friendly  Mrs.  Adams, 
when  we  last  looked  in  upon  them.  Mrs.  Murray 
was  some  time  in  rallying  from  the  great  nervous 
prostration  which  had  been  brought  upon  her.  Her 
constitution  was  never  robust,  and  she  was  illy  fitted, 
physically,  to  contend  with  hardships  such  as  she  had 
undergone.  She  strove  against  despondency,  by  look- 
ing at  the  bright  side  of  her  prospects  ;  yet  there  were 
moments  when  she  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  at  the 
thought  of  her  situation,  as  a  deserted,  unloved  wife. 

She  was  going  back  to   the  home   of  her  girlhood, 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  23fi 

and  she  was  thankful  too,  that  she  could  return  to  the 
dear  old  spot.  But  how  different  were  her  feelings  at 
the  present  time,  from  what  they  had  been  when  she 
left  the  home  of  her  mother,  nearly  twenty  years  be- 
fore. A  feeling  of  proud  exultation  had  predominated 
within  her  breast  at  that  period  in  her  history ;  but 
now  the  leading  feelings  of  her  stricken  heart  were 
gratitude  and  humility.  Angels  could  joy  over  her 
now,  but  at  her  leaving  the  home  of  her  girlhood,  they 
might  well  have  wept,  if  tears  ever  could  bedew  an 
angel's  cheek. 

Pride  would  sometimes  whisper  to  the  heart  of  this 
fugitive  from  her  own  splendid  home,  that  it  would  be 
more  than  she  could  bear  to  meet  her  sister  upon 
whom  she  had,  in  the  first  years  of  her  wedded  life, 
looked  down,  because  she  was  less  aspiring  than  her- 
self. At  such  moments  the  conflict  carried  on  in  her 
heart, -unseen  and  unsuspected  even  by  Clara,  was 
terrible  ;  but  she  was  enabled  at  these  seasons  to  gain 
the  victory  over  wrong,  and  each  successive  struggle 
was  less  severe. 

f*  Thanks  be  to  God,  who  givcth  me  the  victory," 
was  then  the  language  of  her  heart.  "  I  went  out  full," 
said  she,  as  she  was  about  starting  for  New  England, 
"but  I  shall  return  empty;  I  went  out  proud  and 
boastful,  but  I  hope  I  shall  return  grateful  and 
humble.  I  read  in  my  Bible,  such  words  as  these  :  '  In 
all  their  affliction,  lie  (Jesus)  was  afflicted,  and  the 
angel  of  his  presence  saved  them ;  '  it  seems  as  if 
these  comforting  words  had  been  put  there  especially 
to  inspire  my  fainting  heart  with  courage." 

"  This  assurance  will  last  you  to  your  journey's  end, 
my  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Adams,  "  and,  at  the  same  time, 


236  BESSIE    AND   KAYMOND. 

it  will  sustain  thousands  of  sinking  hearts  beside  your 
own." 

The  parting  with  these  friends  of  a  short  period  was 
tender  and  affectionate,  for  the  ties  that  bound  them 
to  each  other  were  strong  and  enduring  as  the  ties  of 
sympathy  must  ever  be.  Clara  promised  to  write  to 
Mrs.  Adams  soon  after  her  arrival  at  her  »aunt's,  for 
thither  their  steps  were  to  be  first  turned,  because  the 
residence  of  that  relative  was  more  easily  reached, 
than  the  home  of  Mrs.  Murray's  mother.  Their  journey 
to  that  place  was  not  marked  by  anything  of  impor- 
tance. It  was  probably  remarked,  by  more  than  one 
fellow-traveller,  that  these  two  ladies  were  very  quiet 
and  unpretending  in  their  manners,  as  well  as  very 
reserved. 

Some  curious  minds  felt  a  desire  to  know  something 
of  their  history  ;  but  every  question  addressed  to 
either  mother  or  daughter  was  politely  answered,  with 
such  noncommittal  reserve,  that  the  most  inquisitively 
disposed  they  encountered  upon  the  whole  route, 
thought  it  not  worth  their  while  to  pry  closely  into 
their  affairs.  The  heart  of  Mrs.  Murray  beat  almost 
audibly,  when  she  found  herself  seated  in  a  carriage 
that  was  to  convey  her  to  the  house  of  her  sister. 
Clara  noticed  the  agitation  of  her  mother,  and  longed 
to  relieve  it. 

"You  are  tired,  my  dear  mother,  aren't  you?"  in- 
quired the  noble  girl,  tenderly. 

Her  mother  could  not  reply,  for  the  deep  fountain 
of  feeling  was  broken  up,  and  she  could  not  control 
her  emotions.  She  pressed  her  daughter's  hand  in 
silence,  and  the  hand  that  held  Clara's  trembled  so 
much,  that  the  affectionate  girl  felt  distressed  at  the 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  237 

disquietude  of  her  loved  parent.  She  made  no  at- 
tempt to  console  her  again  by  words,  but  only  put 
her  arm  around  her  neck,  and  laid  her  cheek  close  to 
that  of  her  mother. 

The  distance  from  the  depot  to  the  place  where  our 
travellers  were  to  stop,  was  not  long.  Clara  wished 
it  had  been  longer,  as  the  carriage  stopped  before  her 
aunt's.door,  for  she  wished  her  mother  could  have  time 
to  recover  her  self-possession  before  she  met  her  rela- 
tives ;  yet  every  other  feeling  but  joy,  at  the  sight  of  her 
brother,  was  at  once  put  to  flight.  Edgar  was  looking 
out  at  a  front  window  in  his  aunt's  parlor,  as  the  car- 
riage rolled  up  and  stopped  before  the  door.  He  was 
not  certain,  until  he  had  reached  the  sidewalk  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Clara's  face,  that  this  vehicle  con- 
tained his  mother  and  sister.  But  he  had  kept  a  look- 
out every  time  the  cars  came  in,  for  some  days  pre- 
vious, hoping  they  would  arrive.  Several  times  he 
had  been  to  the  depot,  thinking  to  give  his  mother 
and  sister  a  pleasant  surprise  ;  but  having  failed  to 
meet  them,  he  had,  on  the  day  of  their  arrival,  con- 
cluded it  would  be  better  to  stay  at  home. 

Edgar's  aunt  observed  that  he  ran  to  a  front  win- 
dow, soon  after  he  heard  the  car  whistle  of  the  mid- 
day train  from  Providence,  or  rather,  the  train  that 
connected  with  that  one. 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  come  at  this  hour  of  the 
day,  my  dear?  "  asked  his  aunt. 

"I  do,  auntie;   for  the  steamboat  train  starts  so 

early  from   Groton,  that  I  don't  believe   mother  will 

be  able  to  get  up  early  enough  to  come  on  in  it.     You 

know  she  has  been  so  sick  she  will  get  tired  easy." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  the  lady;  "and  Clara  will 


238  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

wish  your  mother  to  come  with  as  little  fatigue  as 
possible  ;  so  she  will  be  likely  to  learn  the  most  com- 
fortable way  for  her  to  travel,  before  she  sets  out." 

"  There  comes  a  carriage,  Aunt  Jenkins,  and  it  is 
coming  near  the  curbstone  ;  it  is  stopping  ;  0,  it  must 
be  my  mother  and  sister !  "  and  away  flew  the  de- 
lighted boy,  and  paused  not  until  he  threw  himself 
into  the  arms  of  Clara,  who  was  the  first  to- alight. 
His  sister  embraced  him  tenderly,  and  then  hastily 
disengaged  herself,  and  turned  to  assist  her  mother ; 
but  she  had  no  need  to  do  this,  for  Mrs.  Jenkins  had 
followed  Edgar  from  the  house,  and  took  her  sister's 
hand  as  she  attempted  to  leave  the  carriage,  and  al- 
most bore  her  in  her  arms  while  they  ascended  the 
doorsteps  and  entered  the  parlor. 

Neither  of  the  sisters  were  able  to  articulate  a 
word.  Mrs.  Jenkins  seated  her  sister  upon  the  sofa, 
sat  down  beside  her,  and  encircled  her  neck  with  her 
arms.  Their  tears  mingled  in  silence  for  a  while,  and 
then  the  elder  sister  remembered  that  their  mother  was 
up-stairs  in  a  remote  part  of  the  house,  and  could  not 
know  of  the  arrival.  She  strove  hard  to  check  her 
weeping,  and  speak  cheerfully,  but  her  efforts  were 
unsuccessful ;  so  she  arose,  saying  between  her  sobs, 
"  I  will  go  and  tell  mother,  myself." 

Just  then  her  son  Willie  entered  the  room,  and 
stood  near  Clara,  who  had  been  escorted  in  by  Edgar, 
who  had  also  had  a  care  to  the  baggage,  which  had 
been  entirely  unthought  of  by  his  aunt.  Willie  looked 
around  upon,  the  tearful  faces  in  the  room,  for  all  had 
caught  the  contagion,  and  even  the  merry  Albert  was 
weeping  with  the  rest. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  thought  you  would  feel  glad 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  239 

when  auntie  came  ;  you  told  me  that  you  should ;  and 
now  she  is  here,  you  are  all  making  a  terrible  ado 
about  it,  seems  to  me." 

"  We  are  only  crying  for  joy,"  replied  his  mother, 
with  a  smile  that  did  her  own  soul  good,  as  well  as  her 
boy. 

"  That  is  queer,  seems  to  me  ;  I  don't  cry  when  I 
am  glad." 

"Because  you  never  was  glad  enough,  perhaps," 
answered  Clara,  as  her  aunt  went  to  seek  her  mother, 
and  apprise  her  of  the  coming  of  the  daughter,  who 
had  for  many  years  been  as  a  stranger  to  her. 

"There'll  be  more  crying  when  grandma  comes 
down/'1  said  Willie,  "for  she  sheds  tears  ever  so  easy, 
and'so  she  won't  keep  them  back  this  time,  I  know." 

Willie's  prophecy  was  fulfilled  ;  his  grandmother  did 
weep  long  and  tenderly,  in  the  arms  of  her  newly- 
found  daughter. 

"  Do  I  indeed  hold  my  long-lost  Clara  in  my  arms 
once  more  ?  How  long  I  have  prayed  and  waited  in 
hope  for  this  hour.  Oh,  what  a  prayer-hearing  God  is 
ours  ;  the  careless  and  skeptical  know  not  what  hap- 
piness is  ;  how  my  heart  rejoices  at  this  answer  to 
prayer,  which  I  feel  has  been  vouchsafed  to  me." 

Mrs.  Murray  lifted  her  head  from  where  her  face 
had  been  laid  upon  her  mother's  neck,  and  looked 
earnestly  and  lovingly  into  her  face.  Then  she  spoke, 
although  it  was  not  without  emotion  ;  she  uttered  the 
words,  "  forgive  my  past  iugratitude,  my  own  dear 
mother." 

"  Forgive  you,  my  daughter  ?  You  have  ever  been 
forgiven  by  me,  for  I  have  felt  that,  during  all  these 


240  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

trying  years,  you  have  not  known  what  you  were 
doing." 

"It  took  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  &  Company  to  open 
a  way  for  mother  to  do  her  duty,"  said  Clara,  as  she 
now  approached  her  grandmother,  and  kissed  her 
affectionately. 

"And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins  with  a  smile,  "it 
must  be  myself  who  opens  a  way  to  the  room  where 
supper  is  ready  for  these  faint  and  weary  guests  of 
mine.  They  must  talk  no  more,  until  they  have  had 
something  to  refresh  them." 

Mrs.  Murray  and  Clara  followed  her  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  were  soon  seated  at  a  board,  which  in 
reality  deserved  the  term  social,  as  all  these  loved  and 
loving  relatives  gathered  around  it,  with  beaming 
countenances,  which  expressed  more  forcibly  than 
words  could,  the  gladness  of  their  overflowing  hearts. 
All  Mrs.  Jenkins's  family  were  present  on  this  occa- 
sion, excepting  Bessie,  who  was  absent  from  home. 
In  the  joyous  excitement  of  the  hour,  she  was  forgot- 
ten ;  though  far  otherwise  would  it  have  been,  had  it 
been  thought  by  either  of  her  family  that  her  company 
would  have  heightened  the  pleasure  of  the  interesting 
circle.  But  they  knew  her  presence  would  only  cast 
a  shadow  there,  so  she  was  unthought  of,  for  the  time, 
by  this  newly-united  family.  Yet  it  does  not  become 
us  to  forget  Bessie,  much  as  we  should  prefer  to  linger 
with  these  happy  ones.  We  must  invite  the  reader 
to  follow  the  fortunes  of  this  misguided  "young  lady, 
with  us,  in  another  chapter. 


BESSIE   AND   KAYMOND.  211 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  But  who  shall  so  forecast  the  years, 
And  hud  in  loss,  a  gain  to  match ; 
Or  reach  a  hand  through  time  to  catch 
The  far-off  interest  of  tears."  — Tennyson. 

"  I  could  sometimes  die,  life's  changeless  pulse 
Beateth  so  wearily."  —  Willis. 

Bessie's  life  was  a  burden  to  her ;  she  had  nursed 
her  morbid  feelings  so  constantly  they  had  acquired 
great  strength.  Her  health  was  impaired  by  her 
mental  uneasiness,  and  she  was,  on  the  whole,  an 
object  of  compassion,  as  she  went  about  unblessing, 
and,  we  had  almost  said,  unblest ;  yet  this  would 
hardly  be  true  ;  though  it  was  true  that  she  was  insen- 
sible to  the  blessings  showered  upon  her,  which  is 
equivalent  in  a  sense,  to  being  destitute  of  good. 
Poor  Bessie !  poor,  because  she  would  be  unhappy. 
She  could  find  nothing  essential  to  complain  of,  in  her 
cousin  Edgar  ;  still,  she  declared  he  had  been  the  tor- 
ment of  her  life,  ever  since  he  had  entered  her  mother's 
house. 

"  A  great,  hateful  boy,  to  come  here,  when  my 
brothers  were  enough  to  make  me  crazy  with  their 
noise."  Bessie  said  this  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
6n  which  the  mother  and  sister  of  Edgar  reached  Oak 
Dale,  and  she  spoke  these  unkind  words,  too,  in  the 
hearing  of  the  sensitive  lad. 

Her  mother  replied  by  saying,  "for  shame,  Bessie, 
how  can  you  speak  so  ?  " 

"  I  hate  boys  ;  you  know  I  do." 
21 


242  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND* 

As  she  uttered  these  hateful  words  she  flung  herself 
out  of  the  room.  When  she  had  closed  the  door  after 
her,  Edgar  approached  his  aunt,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  her  arm,  asked,  while  his  lips  trembled  with 
emotion,  "  Am  I  so  troublesome  as  cousin  Bessie  says 
I  am,  auntie  ?  " 

"  No,  my  son  ;  don't  give  what  Bessie  says  about 
your  being  a  trouble,  a  second  thought ;  you  don't 
trouble  us.  Bessie  is  peevish  and  fretful,  and  I  know 
that  she  is  not  well ;  yet  that  is  no  excuse  for  her  ill- 
humor,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  her." 

"  But,  Aunt  Jenkins,  has  my  sister  done  anything 
to  displease  Bessie  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed ;  why  do  you  ask  such  a  question,  my 
dear?" 

"  Because  I  heard  Bessie  one  day  say  something 
about  not  caring  for  cousins,  that  supplanted  her  in 
other  people's  affections.  I  thought  from  the  way 
she  spoke,  she  meant  Clara,  and  I  wondered  what  my 
dear  sister  could  have  done.  I  knew  she  had  seen 
the  young  officer,  who  Albert  says,  is  Bessie's  beau, 
still,  I  thought  this  was  not  enough  to  make  my  cousin 
feel  so  towards  her." 

"You  are  right,  Edgar;  your  sister  has  not  done 
anything  to  injure  Bessie  ;  it  was  no  fault  of  hers, 
that  she  became  acquainted  with  Raymond  Philips  ; 
neither  was  he  to  blame  for  doing  all  in  his  power,  to 
serve  your  mother  and  sister,  when  they  stood  in  need 
of  a  friend  ;  I  shall  always  respect  him  for  it.  Bessie 
does  not  view  things  as  I  wish  she  did  ;  her  temper 
is  not  pleasant,  naturally." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  sighed  as  she  spoke,  and  felt  a  pang  of 
self-reproach,  as  she  reflected  that,  as  a  mother,  she 


BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND.  2  43 

had  been  too  indulgent,  and  too  indolent.  She  had 
thought  only  of  the  present,  in  the  training  of  her 
eldest  child.  Thoughts  of  how  she  was  to  get  along 
in  the  most  comfortable  way  with  the  self-willed  little 
body,  and  keep  her  from  soiling  and  tearing  her 
clothes,  day  by  day,  predominated  in  her  mind,  and 
kept  out  more  important  reflections.  Had  she  real- 
ized that  she  was  rearing  a  woman,  who  was  to  act 
an  important  part  in  her  sphere,  on  the  great  stage  of 
life,  she  would  have  done  differently.  It  was  too  late 
now,  she  felt,  to  interpose  her  authority,  but  she  had 
repented  of  her  former  neglect  of  duty,  and  God,  per- 
adventure  would  hear  her  prayers,  in  behalf  of  her  ill 
tempered  daughter.  These  thoughts  passed  in  the 
mind  of  Bessie's  mother,  during  the  few  moments  she 
was  occupied  in  making  the  last  remark  to  her 
nephew. 

"  I  am  sorry  Bessie  feels  as  she  does/'  said  Edgar ; 
u  I  want  her  to  be  pleasant  to  Clara." 

"So  do  I,  very  much;  answered  his  aunt;   "but 

Edgar,  don't  let  her  know  that"  you  think  Bessie  don't 

feel  right  towards  her,  on  account  of  Raymond,  will 

you?  " 

"  Not  if  you  would  rather  I  would  not,  aunt." 

"  I  should  feel  mortified  to  have  her  know  Bessie  is 

so  foolish." 

"  I  hope  she  will   not  find  it  out,  without   being 

told,"    remarked    Edgar;  and   here  the  conversation 

was  interrupted. 

Bessie  did  not  join  the  family  again,  that  day  ;  she 

merely  looked  into  the  room  where  her  mother  was 

busy  at  work,  and  said  that  she  was  going  out,  and 

might  be  absent  during  the  day. 


244  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND . 

"  Good  riddance  to  ugly  rubbish,"  muttered  Willie, 
as  she  passed  him  on  the  doorsteps,  as  she  was  going 
out. 

"You  impudent  rascal,"  exclaimed  Bessie,  glanc- 
ing an  indignant  look,  in  his  direction. 

Willie  chuckled  and  distorted  his  features,  as  all  boys 
will,  when  they  can  think  of  no  better  way  to  vent  their 
disdain  upon  one  they  feel  has  misused  them. 

11 1  wish  I  could  die,"  thought  Bessie,  as  she  went 
out  from  the  home  her  presence  ought  to  have 
gladdened.  "  Why  couldn't  I  have  been  one  of  those 
pretty  doves,  getting  their  living  so  easily  by  the 
wayside  ?  I  don't  see  what  I  was  born  for,  I  am  sure. 
I  know  I  have  done  wrong  to  Raymond,  but  I  love 
him,  notwithstanding,  better  than  anyone  else  ;  I  won- 
der why  it  is  I  won't  let  anybody  love  me.  But  I  have 
been  tried  so  much  ;  if  I  was  only  loved  by  most  people 
as  Julia  Sedgwick  and  Kate  Sisson  are,  I  should  be 
happy.  I  wish  Mrs.  Sedgwick  would  come  home  ;  I 
feel  lonely ;  nobody  at  home  sympathizes  with  me,  and 
no  one  excepting  mother  and  grandmother  knows  that 
Raymond  is  hurt  with  me,  so  they  cannot  sympathize 
with  me  in  that.  If  Julia  Sedgwick  was  here,  I  think 
I  might  tell  her,  that  is,  if  she  does  n't  form  an  inti- 
macy with  that  cousin  of  mine,  who  has  made  herself 
such  a  heroine.  She  might  have  obeyed  her  father, 
and  ^tayed  in  her  rich  home.  What  difference  will  it 
make  to  her  in  the  end,  whether  Jefferson  Davis  or 
Abraham  Lincoln  is  President  ?  She 's  a  foolish 
creature ;  I'd  laugh  to  see  myself  setting  up  an 
opinion  in  defiance  of  others  about  the  National  Gov- 
ernment, and  running  off  and  leaving  my  birthright. 
After  all,  it  may  turn  out  that  all  this  heroism  has  been 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  245 

practised  in  order  to  attract  the  handsome  Yankee 
officer.  I  know  I  shall  never  like  Clara  Murray  ;  but 
anyhow,  I  wish  I  had  not  written  that  letter  to  Ray- 
mond ;  I'll  not  let  any  one  know  that  I  regret  doing 
so,  however.  It 's  nobody's  business  but  mine.  If  I 
am  unhappy,  I  alone  have  to  bear  it." 

In  this  Bessie  was  very  much  mistaken  ;  others  had 
to  be  burdened  with  her  sorrows.  She  could  not  as- 
sume cheerfulness,  or  would  not,  if  she  could  ;  and 
she  cast  a  shadow  of  gloom  along  her  pathway  con- 
tinually. She  made  several  calls  on  the  mOrning  she 
left  her  home,  in  the  unenviable  mood  we  have  de- 
scribed, then  dined  and  spent  most  of  the  afternoon 
with  a  friend.  Wearied  with  herself,  and  any  object 
she  met  on  the  way,  she  returned  home  just  in  time 
to  find  our  happy  party  at  the  table. 


246  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND, 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

11  For  selfishness  will  ever  send 
Suspicions  through  the  breast ; 
And  makes  man  treat  his  truest  friend 
As  an  unwelcome  guest." — M.  Henry. 

When  Bessie  entered  the  house,  and  heard  voices, 
as  she  drew  near  the*  dining-room,  that  were  not 
familiar  to  her  ear,  she  paused  a  few  moments  to  as- 
sure herself  that  there  was  company  at  the  table,  and 
then  turned  about  and  sought  her  chamber.  Wonder- 
ing who  her  mother's  guests  were  on  this  occasion, 
she  laid  aside  her  shawl  and  hat  and  seated  herself  to 
consider  what  she  should  do  about  going  down  stairs  to 
join  the  circle  that  she  thought,  from  the  cheerful 
tones  she  had  heard,  must  be  very  happy. 

"  I  wonder  who  these  visitors  are  ?  "  said  she,  men- 
tally. "  It  cannot  be  that  Aunt  Murray  and  Clara 
have  arrived,  for  they  would  have  come  early  in  the 
morning,  and  it  was  past  the  hour  for  the  cars  to  ar- 
rive that  would  bring  them,  when  I  left  home.  It  is, 
anyhow,  persons  who  do  not  visit  us  often,  for  I  should 
recognize  the  voices  of  mother's  familiar  guests.  0, 
dear,  what  a  bother  it  is  to  have  so  much  company  ; 
mother  might  as  well  open  a  hotel  at  once,  and  then 
one  could  be  more  retired,  because  etiquette  would 
not  require  us  to  provide  social  entertainment  for  our 
patrons.  But  here  I  am,  more  hungry  than  I  ever  was 
before  in  my  life,  and  if  I  have  any  decent  kind  of  a 
tea,  I  must  go  down.     I  wish  I  could  have  eaten  more 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  247 

dinner  at  Mrs.  Gordon's,  bdt  I  couldn't  for(*e  myself 
to  eat  her  soup,  and  so  I'm  really  faint.  I  suppose 
those  horrid  boys  are  all  of  them  at  the  table  ;  I  wish 
mother  did  not  care  so  much  about  having  them  prac- 
tise table-manners  ;  they  are  nothing-  but  boys,  and 
they  ought  to  wait  until  the  older  members  of  the 
family  have  taken  their  meals,  and  then  eat  by  them- 
selves. Heigh  ho  !  if  I  was  only  mistress  in  this 
house,  I'd  fix  things  to  my  own  mind,  I  know  I  would  ; 
but  I'm  nobody,  and  my  tastes  are  not  often  consulted, 
nor  my  wishes,  either." 

In  a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time,  these  reflec- 
tions were  indulged  by  Bessie,  who  was,  as  she 
said,  faint,  because  she  had  eaten  but  little  during  the 
day.  Then  she  arose  and  went  down  stairs,  and,  with 
a  feeling  of  hesitation,  entered  the  room  where  the 
pleasant  group  we  have  before  looked  in  upon  was 
seated  around  the  supper-table. 

"  This  is  Bessie,  my  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
as  Bessie  advanced  towards  the  circle  of  pleasant 
faces  ;  "  and  these  ladies,  daughter,  are  your  Aunt 
Murray,  and  Clara,  your  cousin." 

Bessie  was  taken  by  surprise  ;  she  bowed  awkward- 
ly, and  coolly  offered  her  hand  to  the  new  comers, 
while  her  countenance  assumed  an  unnatural  white- 
ness. Her  aunt  observed  her  pallor,  and  instantly 
made  the  remark  to  her  sister,  that  the  young  lady 
looked  ill  ;  upon  which  Bessie  said  in  a  constrained 
tone,  "I  am  only  faint  and  weary." 

"  Sit  down,  Bessie,"  said  her  grandmother,  "  and 
take  a  cup  of  warm  tea  ;  as  you  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  drinking  tea  often,  it  will  refresh  you." 

"  I  don't  care  what  I  have,"  was  the  peevish  reply 
to  this  kind  suggestion. 


248  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND . 

A  cup  of  tea  was  accordingly  passed  to  tke  morbid 
girl,  and  was  held  some  little  time  before  her ;  and 
then,  as  she  did  not  condescend  to  take  it,  it  was  set 
down  by  her  plate.  After  a  few  minutes,  she  took  a 
teaspoonful  of  tea  from  the  cup  and  tasted  it ;  then 
hastily  returning  the  spoon  to  the  cup,  she  exclaimed 
impatiently  — 

"  I  can't  drink  such  stuff  as  that;  but  if  I  had 
some  coffee  I  might  drink  it ;  is  n't  there  any  coffee, 
mother  ?  " 

"There  isn't  any  made,  my  dear;  but  you  shall 
have  a  cupful  directly,  as  there  is  boiling  water  in  the 
kitchen.  Willie,  my  son,  won't  you  ask  Pattie  to 
make  your  sister  a  cup  of  coffee  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  must,"  said  Willie,  rising  from  the 
table  ;  "  but  if  she  was  only  good  natured,  I  would  do 
it  willingly." 

"  You  hold  your  impudence,"  said  his  sister;  but 
Willie  had  left  the  room,  and  did  not  hear  this  unlove- 
ly command. 

"  Daughter!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jenkins,  in  a  tone  of 
expostulation,  which  the  daughter  did  not  heed. 

All  this  time,  Bessie's  aunt  and  Cousin  Clara  sat, 
regarding  her  with  feelings  of  mute  surprise,  which 
they  unsuccessfully  attempted  to  conceal.  Edgar 
was  past  sharing  their  astonishment,  for  he  had  been 
shocked  too  many  times  to  be  disturbed  by  her  fret- 
fulness  on  this  occasion.  He  regretted  it,  however, 
on  Clara's  account,  more  than  for  any  other  reason ; 
he  very  naturally  conceived  the  idea  that  it  would  be 
very  gratifying  to  his  sister,  to  be  kindly  welcomed 
by  one  so  near  her  own  age,  as  was  Bessie.  He  saw 
and  felt  that  the  entrance  of  this  cousin,  had  brought 
a  shadow  upon  the  brightness  of  the  hour. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  249 

Willie  felt  it  keenly,  too  ;  for  he  was  somewhat 
older  than  when  he  was  frightened  ont  of  bed  by  Bes- 
sie's sobs  and  groans,  some  months  before.  It  morti- 
fied him,  that  his  sister  should  deport  herself  in  so  un- 
ladylike a  manner,  the  first  time  she  ever  met  her 
relatives.  Albert  was  so  merry  a  boy,  that  his  keen 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  was  more  strongly  appealed  to 
by  his  sister's  moodiness,  than  any  other  feeling  ;  but 
Mrs.  Jenkins  and  her  mother,  were  really  ashamed 
and  pained  at  Bessie's  conduct. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  all,  but  Bessie,  to  have  Mrs. 
Sedgwick  announced,  just  as  they  were  leaving  the 
table  to  return  to  the  parlor.  This  lady  sympathized 
so  deeply  in  the  happiness  of  the  friends  who  had 
met  after  so  long  a  separation,  that  her  presence  was 
a  comfort  to  them. 

"Had  I  known/'  said  she  to  Mrs.  Jenkins,  "that 
your  friends  had  but  just  arrived,  I  should  have  deferred 
my  call  until  a  later  day ;  but  as  I  did  not  intend  to  in- 
trude upon  you  at  this  interesting  moment,  I  know 
you  will  all  accept  my  warmest  sympathy,  with  my 
heartfelt  congratulations  that  you  have  been  permitted 
to  meet  again  on  earth,  and  under  such  interesting 
circumstances,  too.  And  now  I  will  bid  you  adieu, 
and  call  again  to-morrow,  or  on  some  other  day  very 
soon." 

"  No,  don't  go,  Mrs.  Sedgwick,"  said  Mrs.  Jen- 
kins. "You  are  the  very  friend  whose  society  will 
do  us  good,  this  evening  ;  so  please  sit  down." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  was  joined  by  her  mother,  in  urging 
this  friend  to  stop  awhile  ;  while  Mrs.  Murray's  coun- 
tenance said  plainly  it  was  her  wish  she  would  comply 
with  the  solicitations  of  her  relatives. 


250  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Had  not  Bessie  thrown  such  a  damper  upon  the 
good  feelings  of  this  party  of  friends,  the  society  of 
one,  even  like  Mrs.  Sedgwick,  would  not  have  been 
desirable  on  this  occasion  ;  as  it  was,  't  was  truly  a 
relief.  After  a  few  commonplace  remarks  had  been 
made  by  several  of  the  party,  and  Mrs.  Sedgwick  had 
answered  several  inquiries  made  by  her  friends  re- 
specting her  son  and  his  family,  who  were,  as  the 
reader  already  knows,  absent  from  home  at  that  time ; 
that  lady  ventured  to  ask  some  questions  about  the 
state  of  things  at  the  South,  or  that  part  of  it  which 
Mrs.  Murray  and  her  daughter  had  lately  left. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  had  made  Mrs.  Sedgwick  acquainted 
with  some  circumstances  connected  with  the  history 
of  her  sister.  And  as  the  heart  of  this  friend  was 
touched  with  pity  for  the  mother,  who  had  endured 
such  neglect  from  a  loved  child,  she  could  not  but 
feel  the  most  intense  interest,  in  learning  the  manner 
in  which  this  daughter  had  been  led  to  see  her  errors, 
and  renounce  them.  She  was  therefore  gratified  to 
find  that  Mrs.  Murray  did  not  shrink  from  speaking 
freely  of  the  past,  though  she  did  so  with  an  expres- 
sion of  touching  sadness  upon  her  countenance. 

Any  allusion  to  her  husband  was  carefully  avoided 
by  her,  after  referring  once  to  his  being  a  Confederate 
soldier,  and  that,  consequently,  he  was  absent  from 
his  home  and  family.  That  Mrs.  Sedgwick  knew  her 
position  in  Southern  society,  she  had  no  doubt.  She 
inferred  too,  from  the  reception  given  her  by  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  and  her  mother,  that  she  was  a  very  dear 
friend,  and  that,  with  the  sunny  expression  of  her 
comely  face,  made  her  feel  that  this  lady  was  to  be 
loved  and  trusted. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  251 

"IIow  I  hope  her  smile  will  prove  contagious  to 
Bessie/7  thought  Clara,  as  that  young  lady  entered  the 
parlor  a  short  time  after  the  rest  of  the  little  group 
had  gathered  there  ;  and  with  interest  she  watched  her, 
to  see  if  Bessie  would  not  welcome,  cordially,  the 
friend  so  dear  to  the  other  members  of  her  family. 
"  She  will  be  glad  to  meet  this  lady,  certainly/'  was 
in  her  thoughts,  as  Bessie  moped  along  to  that  part  of 
the  room  where  Mrs.  Sedgwick  was  sitting,  and  in 
return  for  the  warm  grasp  of  that  lady's  hand,  gave 
her  a  hand  passive  and  chilling  to  the  touch. 

"How  can  she?"  arose  to  the  lips  of  Clara,  but 
she  checked  herself  ere  a  sound  escaped  her. 

"  Sober  yet,  Bessie  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Sedgwick,  as  that 
young  lady  took  a  seat  by  her  side.  "  I  don't  wonder 
that  you  feel  anxious  to  hear  from  Raymond,  now  that 
he  has  been  in  a  battle  or  skirmish  ;  but  you  must 
hope  for  the  best,  and  even  if  you  hear  sad  accounts 
of  him,  you  mustn't  be  in  haste  to  believe  such 
reports." 

"Bo  you  refer  to  Raymond  Philips,  Mrs.  Sedg- 
wick?" asked  Mrs.  Murray. 

"I  do  ;  he  has  recently  been  engaged  with  the 
enemy  near  Kelly's  Ford  ;  and  it  is  reported  that  some 
of  the  men  he  was  with  are  prisoners,  while  quite  a 
number  have  been  killed." 

Bessie's  cheek  paled  as  she  heard  this  news  ;  to  her 
it  was  very  sad  intelligence.  Her  heart  was  pained 
at  the  thought  that  possibly  Raymond  was  among  the 
killed  or  wounded,  and  oh,  if  he  should  die,  feeling 
that  she  was  angry  with  him,  she  should  never  be 
happy  again  ;  and  she  shuddered  at  the  bare  possibility 
of  such  an  event. 


252  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  was  quick  to  discern  the  fact  that 
she  had  been  the  bearer  of  unpleasant  tidings  to 
Bessie,  and  regretted  having  spoken  of  Raymond, 
without  knowing  that  she  was  ignorant  of  his  probable 
condition.  She  did  not  understand  Bessie's  feelings 
fully,  because  she  was  not  acquainted  with  all  the 
facts  concerning  this  young  couple.  Bessie  had  risen 
in  her  esteem,  since  she  had  seen  her  part  with  Ray- 
mond in  so  becoming  a  manner.  She  could  never 
have  imagined  that  a  tender-hearted  girl  could  have 
written  and  sent  him  a  missive  to  cause  him  pain  ;  so 
she  unwittingly  probed  deeply  the  wounded  heart  of 
the  poor  girl,  by  telling  her  that  she  had  much  to 
think  of  that  was  pleasant,  in  regard  to  her  corre- 
spondence with  Raymond,  since  he  left  his  home,  and 
that  his  letters  would  comfort  her,  even  if  he  should 
never  return. 

"What  a  pleasant  memento  they  will  be  of  him, 
Bessie."  As  Mrs.  Sedgwick  said  this,  Bessie  hid  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  groaned  aloud. 

"Bessie,  dear,  don't  grieve  so,"  said  Mrs.  Sedg- 
wick, in  a  startled  tone  ;  "all  may  be  well  with  Ray- 
mond, even  now.  You  may  receive  a  letter  from  him 
very  soon." 

Bessie  could  bear  no  more.  Her  friend  had  inno- 
cently inflicted  a  wound,  when  striving  to  comfort  the 
misguided  girl.  She  could  not  think  that  Mrs.  Sedg- 
wick had  intentionally  given  her  pain,  but  she  won- 
dered why  this  good  friend  had,  on  that  night, 
stumbled  upon  the  very  subject  she  could  not  endure 
to  have  mentioned  in  her  hearing. 

"You  don't  know  all  the  cause  I  have  to  grieve," 
said  Bessie,  "  else  you  would  not  have  spoken  in  the 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  253 

manner  you  have  to  me.     Yet  you  are  not  to  blame  ; 
sometime  you  may  know  more."  ** 

"It  pains  me  to  think  I  have  hurt  your  feelings, 
Bessie,"  replied  her  friend.  "  I  wanted  to  comfort 
you,  and  my  desire  to  do  so,  has  led  me  to  say  that 
which  has  given  you  pain.  Innocently  have  I  done 
this,  but  now  I  feel  that  I  must  know  your  great 
trouble,  that  I  may  be  able  to  sympathize  with  you 
more  deeply.  It  will  never  do  for  a  young  girl  to  go 
about  with  her  head  bowed  down  like  a  bulrush,  when 
she  is  just  at  the  age  when  cheerfulness,  and  playful- 
ness too,  is  as  natural  to  youth  as  the  air  they 
breathe." 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  remembered  the  unhappiness  of 
Bessie,  at  the- prospect  of  Raymond's  becoming  a 
soldier,  some  time  before,  and  she  was  fearful  that  she 
was  augmenting  whatever  of  sorrow  she  had  been 
called  to  taste,  by  a  sickly  imagination  ;  therefore 
when  Bessie  arose  to  leave  the  room,  and  remarked 
that  Mrs.  Sedgwick  did  not  know  that  Raymond  had 
become  attached  to  another  beside  herself,  she  was 
less  surprised  than  she  would  have  been  had  she  not 
been  acquainted  with  these  circumstances.  With  a 
smile  she  arose  hastily  and  arrested  Bessie,  ere  she  had 
reached  the  door,  by  taking  hold  of  her  arm. 

"  Stop,  Bessie,"  said  she,  "  and  let  me  say  to  you 
that  I  never  expect  to  know  that  Raymond  Philips 
loves  any  other  object  as  he  does  you,  unless  you 
forbid  his  loving  you  first ;  and  then,  believe  me,  it 
will  be  some  time  before  he  could  learn  to  regard 
anotiier  as  he  now  does  you." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  all,"  said  Bessie,  excitedly, 
22 


254  BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND. 

as  she  flung  the  arm  of  her  friend  from  her  and  hurried 
from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  returned  to  the  seat  she  had  left, 
remarking,  as  she  did  so,  that  something  must  be  done 
for  Bessie  immediately,  to  divert  her  mind  from  the 
gloomy  fancies  she  was  indulging. 

"I  feel  as  you  do  about  Bessie,"  said  Mrs.  Clem- 
ent ;  "I  don't  think  she  has  any  reason  to  doubt 
Raymond's  affection  for  her.  She  is  indulging  feel- 
ings that  are  hurting  not  only  her  own  peace,  but  the 
happiness  of  a  brave  young  soldier,  who  is  entitled  to 
her  sympathy  in  his  hardships,  and  who,  too,  ought  to 
be  cheered  by  the  influence  of  her  kind,  cheerful 
letters.  I  pity  Bessie,  but  not  because  she  has  heavy 
trials  to  bear,  so  much  as  because,  poor  child,  she  cul- 
tivates an  unhappy  disposition.  I  would  not  say  this 
before  these  friends  who  do  not  know  her,  had  she  not 
manifested  a  most  unamiable  temper  before  them  to- 
night. I  must  confess,  I  am  ashamed  of  her  behav- 
ior." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  remarked  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "  I  feel 
that  this  is  a  part  of  my  chastisement  for  failing  to 
do  my  duty  by  her  in  her  childhood.  I  did  not,  until 
it  was  too  late,  discover  my  mistake.  I  misimproved 
the  opportunity  granted  me,  during  the  first  seven 
years  of  this  daughter's  life.  Those  were  the  golden 
years  for  sowing  seeds  for  a  harvest  of  virtues  in  her 
womanhood.  I  did  not  know  this  fact  when  she  was 
an  infant ;  at  least,  I  did  not  appreciate  it  as  I  ought." 

The  afflicted  mother  wept,  as  she  confessed  her 
short-comings. 

"Dear  auntie,"  said  Clara,  lovingly,  "  don't  flwell 
upon  the  past,  but  let  us  look  forward  with  hope  to 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  255 

the  future.  I  will  try  and  make  Bessie  love  me,  and 
then  I  will  help  her  overcome  these  pitiless  feelings ; 
I  do  believe  I  can." 

"  But,  my  dear  girl,"  replied  Bessie's  mother,  "  you 
are  the  very  individual  of  whom  she  is  jealous  ;  I  fear 
you  will  be  greatly  tried  with  her." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  then,  as  that  will  be  in  my  fa- 
vor. I  do  not  believe  my  cousin  is  entirely  well,  bod- 
ily ;  but  I  know  that  I  can  relieve  her  mental  suffer- 
ing, if  I  can  gain  her  confidence,  and  I  shall  try  hard 
to  do  so." 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  regarded  the  young  lady  with  a 
feeling  of  admiration  as  she  spoke,  while  Mrs.  Clem- 
ent, who  sat  near  Clara,  put  her  arm  around  her  neck 
and  kissed  her  fondly. 

Willie,  who  had  quietly  listened  to  the  conversa- 
tion, gave  his  opinion  unasked,  in  boyish  style. 

"  Plague  take  Bes  !  I  say  she  is  n't  fit  to  be  com- 
pany for  Clara,  anyhow." 

"  That  is  not  a  very  charitable  speech,  Cousin 
Willie,"  said  Clara;  "we  must  have  patience  with 
her,  she  is  unhappy,  and  really  believes  that  she  is 
injured.  We  must  do  right  ourselves,  let  others  do 
as  they  may." 

•  "  But,  Cousin  Clara,  how  provoking  it  is  to  have 
her  act  so  all  the  time  ;  a  fellow  can't  take  much  com- 
fort, when  a  sister  is  looking  so  woe  begone,  and  snap- 
ping him  up  so  every  time  he  speaks  ;  for  my  part, 
I  wish  Bessie  would  be  like  Minnie  Granger  and  other 
girls." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  become  just  such  a  sister,  some 
day,  as  you  wish  her  to  be  ;  be  kind  to  her,  Willie,  for 
the  charms  of  kindness  are  oftentimes  resistless ;  and 


256  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

you  have  reason  to  hope  that,  in  your  sister's  case, 
this  may  be  proved  true." 

"I  hope  Bessie  will  love  you,  Clara/'  said  Willie, 
in  a  tone  that  implied  he  thought  it  a  matter  of  doubt, 
however. 

"  I  expect  she  will,"  answered  Clara.  It  will  not 
be  long  before  she  will  be  convinced  that  I  do  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  her  happiness,  and  that  will  make 
a  great  difference  in  her  feelings  towards  me,  and  to- 
wards that  young  man,  too,  whom  she  thinks  is  par- 
tial to  me." 

"  It  will  be  a  blessing  to  all  this  household  if  your 
sanguine  hopes  are  realized,"  remarked  Mrs.  Clem- 
ent. 

As  the  newly  arrived  friends  were  wearied  with 
their  journey,  Mrs.  Sedgwick  took  leave  of  the  family 
at  an  early  hour,  and  all  its  members  soon  after  re- 
tired to  rest. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  257 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"Resolve,  the  haughty  moralist  would  say; 
The  single  act  is  all  that  we  demand. 
Alas  1  such  wisdom  bids  a  creature  fly, 
Whose  very  sorrow  is,  that  time  hath  6horn 
His  natural  wings."—  Wordsworth. 

m 

Clara  soon  found  that  she  had  not  appointed  her- 
self an  easy  task  when  she  determined  to  make  Bessie 
her  friend.  A  letter  written  by  Raymond  to  his 
mother,  contradicted  the  report  that  had  been  cur- 
rent, in  regard  to  his  being  engaged  in  the  fight  near 
Kelly's  Ford.  His  regiment  had  not  been  in  that 
skirmish  at  all ;  it  had  been  employed  in  whipping 
and  driving  back  a  party  of  guerrillas,  who  had  been 
making  depredations  upon  our  sutlers  for  some  time. 
Somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Antietam,  Raymond  had 
received  a  slight  wound  in  his  hand,  which,  he  assured 
his  mother  was  far  from  being  dangerous.  The  tone 
of  his  letter  was  a  shade  less  cheerful  than  his  former 
letters,  yet  he  did  not,  as  he  affirmed,  regret  that  he 
had  become  a  soldier.  The  most  painful  part  of  his 
experience  was  brought  about  by  intemperance.  Not 
the  intemperance  of  privates,  but  of  officers  high  in 
rank. 

"It  is  galling,  indeed,"  Raymond  wrote,  "to  be 
obliged  to  submit  to  men,  and  be  commanded  by 
them,  when  they,  almost  every  day,  disgrace  them- 
selves in  the  eyes  of  their  command,  by  drunkenness 
It  was  a  great  mistake  made  by  the  '  powers  that  be/ 
22* 


258  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

to  trust  spirituous  liquors  in  the  hands  of  commis- 
sioned officers  ;  and  those  men  who  threw  this  obsta- 
cle in  the  way  of  the  army,  would  be  convinced  that 
they  had  acted  unwisely,  if  they  could  witness  the 
drunkenness  that  abounds  here,  among  men  high  in 
rank.  My  heart  sickens  as  I  write  ;  I  hope  we  may 
succeed  better  in  our  next  attempt  to  dislodge  the 
enemy  at  Fredericksburg,  than  we  did  last  winter. 
We  are  soon  to  make  another  attack  on  that  place,  or 
I  expect  we  are,  for  General  Hooker  is  now  ready  to 
pass  the  Rappahannock.  I  only  wish  that  all  the  of- 
ficers would  keep  clear-headed  during  another  fight, 
if  we  are  to  have  another  battle.  I  am  sick,  sick, 
sick  of  rum's  doings  in  the  army. 

"  How  is  Bessie  ?  poor  girl !  she  is  morbid  and  un- 
reasonable ;  but  my  dear  mother,  don't  treat  her  cold- 
ly if  you  meet  with  her,  but  try  to  lead  her  to  view 
things  differently. 

"  When  you  see  her,  please  give  my  love  to  her, 
and  tell  her  I  am  Raymond,  still." 

Mrs.  Philips  called,  taking  the  letter  with  her,  at 
the  house  of  Mrs.  Jenkins,  soon  after  she  received  it. 
She  inquired  for  Bessie,  and  requested,  on  being  told 
that  the  young  lady  was  in  her  chamber,  that  she 
might  be  called  down.  This  request  was  complied 
with,  but  Bessie  refused  to  see  Mrs.  Philips.  Clara 
had  told  her  that  Raymond's  mother  had  a  letter  with 
her,  from  him,  and  that  she  wished  to  see  her  down 
stairs,  very  much. 

"  I  dont  care  if  she  does,"  was  the  unkind  response 
of  Bessie.- 

"0,  do  go  down  and  see  this  friend,  cousin,"  said 
Clara,  coaxingly  ;  "  you  will  regret  not  going,  by  and 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  259 

by,  if  you  continue  to  refuse,  and  thus  throw  away 
the  friendship  of  this  excellent  lady  ;  do  be  persuaded 
by  me,  your  cousin,  just  this  once  ;  "  and  Clara  put 
her  arm  around  Bessie's  waist,  and  laid  her  cheek 
lovingly  against  that  of  this  cousin ;  still,  the  misguided 
girl  was  obdurate  and  refused  to  go  down. 

"  "Will  you  consent  to  my  inviting  Mrs.  Philips  to 
come  up-stairs  and  see  you  here,  Bessie  ? "  inquired 
Clara. 

* '  If  I  must  see  her  at  all,  I  will  go  down  ;  for  rather 
than  be  obliged  to  see  her  alone,  I  would  go  on  a  long 
pilgrimage,  barefooted ;  but  I  don't  see  why  she  cares 
to  see  me,  I  am  sure." 

"It  is  enough  that  she  wishes  to  see  you,  cousin, 
no  matter  why ;  come,  you  will  go  down  with  me, 
won't  you  ?  "  said  Clara,  encouraged  by  what  Bessie 
had  said,  that  the  ice  about  her  heart  was  beginning 
to  melt  a  little. 

"0,  dear,  I  cannot ;  why  need  you  say  that  I  was 
at  home  ?  " 

'"  "  Because  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  reply  to  Mrs. 
Philips's  question,  both  civilly  and  truthfully.  And  I 
shrink  from  the  task  of  saying  that  to  her,  which  will 
lower  my  cousin  in  her  esteem,  for  I  think  she  is  a 
noble  woman.  No  Roman  mother  ever  could  have 
excelled  her,  I  am  sure." 

These  cousins  had  known  each  other  only  a  few 
days,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing.  With  all 
Bessie's  querulousness,  she  could  not  find  fault  with 
any  trait  she  discovered  in  the  character  of  her  cousin, 
but  the  more  she  saw  her,  the  more  certain  she  felt  that 
it  was  possible  for  Raymond  to  love  one  so  amiable. 
The  idea  that  Clara  should  care  to  have  her  preserve 


260  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

'the  friendship  of  Raymond's  mother,  interested  her 
greatly. 

"  She  cannot  care  about  Raymond,  as  I  do," 
thought  Bessie,  "  or  she  would  be  glad  to  have  his 
mother  think  less  of  me,  instead  of  wishing  me  to  pre- 
serve her  good  opinion. " 

Bessie  was  right  in  her  judgment  of  Clara,  for  this 
noble  girl  could  not  love  any  one  so  selfishly  as  her 
cousin  loved  Raymond  Philips.  But- we  are  digress- 
ing again. 

Clara  perceived  that  Bessie  was  beginning  to  falter 
in  her  purpose  of  denying  herself  to  the  mother  of  her 
best  friend,  and  she  availed  herself  of  her  irresolute- 
ness  to  urge  her  to  do  right. 

"  Come,  Bessie  ;  you  will  be  glad  if  you  do  go 
down ;  I  know  you  will.  I  do  want  you  to  go  so  much ; 
it  will  make  me  love  you  better,  and  I  want  you  to  let 
me  love  you  a  great  deal." 

"  Do  you,  really  ?  "  asked  Bessie. 

u  Yes,  most  assuredly  I  do,  my  dear  cousin." 

As  Clara  uttered  these  words,  she  put  her  arms 
around  Bessie,  and  moved  towards  the  door  of  the 
room. 

"  Come,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone  ;  "  come  cousin, 
you  will  be  glad  all  your  life,  perhaps,  if  you  conquer 
your  selfish  feelings  on  this  occasion.  Be  morally 
brave." 

As  she  was  speaking,  she  was  moving  towards  the 
stairs,  and  somehow,  Bessie  couldn't  tell  how,  she  got 
down  the  stairs,  and  into  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Philips, 
who  was  conversing  with  her  mother,  her  grand- 
mother, and  aunt,  in  the  common  sitting-room  of  the 
family. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  261 

"  IIow  is  your  health,  Bessie  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Philips,- 
extending  her  hand  kindly  to  the  young  lady,  as  she 
approached;  "you  are  not  looking  blooming  and 
fresh,  as  you  ought  to  be,  child  ;  what  is  the  matter, 
dear?" 

All  this  was  spoken  in  the  kindest  tone  possible, 
and  so  quickly,  that  Bessie  could  not  have  answered 
the  first  question,  before  the  last  was  asked.  When 
the  lady  had  ceased  speaking,  Bessie  replied  that  she 
was^  not  very  well,  but  suffered  considerably  with 
headache. 

"lam  sorry/'  was  the  kind  rejoinder  of  her  friend. 

"  I  did  n't  suppose  you  would  care  anything  about 
me  ;  "  said  Bessie. 

"  You  didn't  suppose  I  would  care  anything  about 
you  ?  A  very  erroneous  idea  of  yours,  is  that  certainly. 
Let  me  tell  you  then,  Bessie,  child,  that  I  do  care  to 
have  you  just  the  pattern  young  lady,  physically,  men- 
tally, and  morally,  that  Raymond  wishes  you  to 
become.  0,  I  must  not  forget  to  give  you  the  mes- 
sage he  sent  in  his  last  letter  to  me." 

"What  word  did  he  send  me?"  inquired  Bessie, 
eagerly. 

"  He  requested  me  to  give  his  love  to  you,  and  tell 
you  that  he  was  Raymond,  still." 

Bessie  did  not  reply  immediately,  and  Mrs.  Philips 
asked  her  what  word  she  should  send  to  Raymond,  in 
answer  to  his  message. 

"  0,  I  don't  know,"  said  Bessie  ;  "  I  must  consider 
what  to  say." 

Mrs.  Philips  left  her  to  consider  at  her  leisure,  while 
she  conversed  with  others  of  the  little  circle.  The 
conversation  soon  became  general,  and  the  mention  of 


262  BESSIE   AXD    RAYMOND. 

one  topic  led  to  the  introduction  of  others,  until  in- 
cidentally the  name  of  George  Ashley  was  spoken  by 
Mrs.  Philips.  Clara  started  at  the  sound  of  that  name, 
and  longed  to  ask  where  this  young  gentleman  lived 
when  at  home  ;  she  forbore,  however,  and  listened  at- 
tentively, hoping  to  hear  something  said  that  would 
enlighten  her  upon  the  subject.  She  was  not  disap- 
pointed, for  Mrs.  Philips  gave  a  brief  account  of  the 
circumstances  which  had  compelled  George  to  leave 
his  home,  and  resign  all  claim  to  the  portion  of  his 
father's  estate  that  belonged  to  him,  because  he  could 
not  consent  to  aid  the  Rebellion  against  our  Govern- 
ment. 

"Where  is  this  young  man?"  inquired  Clara, 
eagerly. 

"  He  is  at  present  in  Boston,  where  he  has  been 
fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  situation  as  clerk  in  a 
mercantile  house. " 

"  Has  he  ever  been  in  Oak  Dale  ?  "  asked  Clara. 

"  He  stopped  here  a  few  days,  before  he  obtained  the 
situation,  and  stayed  at  my  house,"  said  Mrs.  Philips. 

"  Then  you  are  acquainted  with  him." 

"  I  am,  and  I  esteem  him  very  highly,  too." 

"  It  seems  that  this  young  man  is  not  a  stranger  to 
you,  Clara,"  remarked  her  aunt. 

"  He  is  not :  I  have  known  him  long." 

"  And  you  might  add,  Clara,"  said  her  mother, 
"  that  you  are  greatly  interested  in  him." 

"  I  might,  had  you  not  added  it  for  me,  mother," 
Clara  replied. 

Bessie  did  not  lose  one  word  of  this  conversation. 
Was  it  true  that  Clara  was  attached  to  this  gentleman  ? 
It  might  be  so,  Bessie  thought.     She  hoped  it  was,  at 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  263 

any  rate,  and  she  would  know  before  long,  for  sho 
would  contrive  to  learn  if  such  was  the  fact  from  her 
cousin's  own  lips. 

M  Then,  after  all  my  worrying,  Raymond  may  not  be 
so  much  interested  in  Clara,  as  I  feared,"  thought  she  ; 
"  it 's  a  pity,  then,  I  wrote  that  letter  to  him,  but  I've 
done  it,  and  it  must  remain  as  it  is,  with  Raymond  and 
myself.  I  wish  I  had  n't  been  so  hasty,  but  it  can't  be 
helped  now." 

Thus  Bessie  reflected,  until  her  thoughts  were  dis- 
turbed by  Mrs.  Philips,  who  had  risen  to  take  her 
leave,  and  asked  her  again,  what  message  she  should 
give  Raymond  from  her. 

"  Please  tell  him  that  I  am  not  Bessie,  now." 

Mrs.  Philips,  after  waiting  a  little  time  with  the  ex- 
pectation that  Bessie  would  say  more,  and  finding  that 
she  did  not,  asked,  "  What  more  ?  " 

"  Only  give  him  my  regards,"  was  Bessie's  answer. 

All  her  friends  were  glad  that  she  had  not  refused 
at  the  last  moment  to  see  Mrs.  Philips.  That  lady 
more  than  suspected  that  Bessie  had  left  her  chamber 
with  reluctance  to  comply  with  her  request ;  still,  the 
fact  that  she  had  crossed  her  inclination  to  meet  her, 
gave  this  kind  mother  pleasure.  She  knew  that  the 
happiness  of  her  son  was  connected  with  the  welfare  of 
Bessie,  and  besides  her  love  of  benevolence,  that  led  her 
to  desire  the  highest  good  of  all,  she  felt  a  special  in- 
terest for  the  young  lady  who  was  to  be  to  her  at  some 
future  time  a  daughter.  It  was  true  she  often  wished 
that  Bessie  was  a  different  character,  for  she  was  too 
much  governed  by  impulse  and  too  much  inclined  to  ex- 
cuse herself  for  wrong  doing,  by  saying  she  was  so  con- 
stituted she  could  not  control  her  feelings  easily.    Mrs. 


264  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

Philips  longed  to  have  her  see  these  faults,  yet  feared 
giving  offence  by  kindly  speaking  of  them  to  their 
victim. 

She  was  ignorant  of  the  unkindness  of  the  infatuated 
girl,  in  writing  to  Raymond  a  letter  filled  with  accusa- 
tions and  reproaches,  for  he  would  not  speak  of  what 
had  given  him  so  much  pain,  even  to  his  mother,  there- 
fore the  conduct  of  Bessie  had  recently  perplexed  Mrs. 
Philips  greatly.  She  feared  her  son  would,  at  the 
best,  lead  a  checkered  life  with  Bessie,  and  that  there 
would  be  more  shadows  than  lights  along  his  pathway, 
if  he  became  connected  with  such  a  being  of  mere  im- 
pulse. But  she  was  determined  to  lead  the  selfish 
girl  to  be  governed  by  higher  principles,  and  leave  the 
result  with  the  All-Powerful  One  above. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  265 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

u  And  slight  withal  may  be  the  things  which  bring 
Back  on  the  heart  the  weight  which  it  would  fling 
Aside  forever ;  —  it  may  be  a  sound,  — 
A  tone  of  music,  —  Summer's  breath,  or  Spring,— 
A  flower,  —  a  leaf,  — the  ocean,  —  which  may  wound, 
Striking  th' electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound." — Byron. 

"  And  so  I  have  come  home,  to  find  myself  a 
deserted  husband  and  father  ;  I  did  not  think  my  wife 
had  courage  enough  to  leave  her  home  and  my  protec- 
tion, she  has  always  been  so  passive  in  regard  to  my 
wishes.  It  is  that  girl,  Clara,  who  has  brought  about 
this  state  of  things  ;  I  am  sure  of  that.  ,  But  where 
can  they  have  gone,  and  where  is  Edgar  ?  " 

Thus  mused  Colonel  Murray,  as  he  sat  in  his  library, 
a  fortnight  after  the  departure  of  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, for  the  North.  He  had  returned  to  his  home,  with 
his  heart  full  of  angry  feelings  towards  Mrs.  Murray 
and  Clara,  and  with  a  firm  resolution,  also,  that  he 
would  find  his  son.  He  entered  his  dwelling,  and  saw 
several  of  his  servants,  who  accosted  him  with  defer- 
ence ;  ye#t  he  asked  no  questions,  but  proceeded  to  the 
library  at  once,  and  from  thence  to  the  sitting-room  of 
the  family ;  but  not  discovering  any  signs  of  its 
having  been  inhabited  very  recently,  he  took  himself 
to  the  chamber  of  Mrs.  Murray.  He  listened  at  the 
door  for  a  moment,  and  then  opened  it,  and  walked  into 
the  deserted  apartment. 

Colonel   Murray   looked    around    in    astonishment 
for  a  little  time,  feeling  bewildered  in  his  surprise. 
23 


266  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"What  can  this  mean?"  asked  the  proud  man, 
mentally  ;  "  these  rooms,  where  my  wife  and  daughter 
have  always  been  found,  when  at  home,  look  as  if  no 
one  had  occupied  them  lately  ;  but  I  shall  find  out,  by 
the  servants,  how  things  are.  Perhaps  my  gentle  wife 
and  daughter  are  practising  some  ruse,  thinking  to 
annoy  me,  for  it  cannot  be  that  they  have  left  these 
premises  privately,  when  they  were  so  closely 
watched." 

Thus  musing,  Colonel  Murray  entered  his  library, 
and  rang  for  a  servant.  Sam  obeyed  the  summons, 
and  stood  before  his  master,  with  an  expression  of 
gravity  upon  his  sable  face,  such  as  few  could  assume. 

"Where  is  your  mistress?"  demanded  Colonel 
Murray,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  De  good  Lor'  knows,  massa,  I  spose  ;  but  none  of 
de  niggers  here  has  n't  seed  her  sence  dat  orfullest 
night  I  ever  seed." 

"  What  night,  you  black  rascal  ?  tell  me,  and  don't 
dare  to  talk  any  of  your  cursed  nigger  nonsense  to 
me,  for  you  shall  tell  me  all  you  know,  or  I  will  punish 
you,  until  you  will  be  glad  to." 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Smith  was  announced.  This 
mercenary  tool,  we  cannot  call  him  a  man,  had  heard 
of  the  arrival  of  his  employer,  and  hastened  to  clear 
himself  from  blame,  in  regard  to  the  disappearance  of 
the  two  ladies  whom  that  dignitary  had  placed  in  his 
custody. 

"  Good  day,  Colonel  Murray,"  said  this  obsequious 
vassal  of  "  chivalry  ;  "  "  good  day,  sir,"  he  repeated, 
as  he  perceived,  by  the  expression  of  the  Colonel's 
countenance,  that  a  storm  was  brewing,  which  might 
burst  on  his  shallow  pate.  Sam  was  ordered  from  the 
room. 


BE88IE    AND   RATBIOKD.  267 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  sir  ;  I  was  as  vigilant  as  a  man 
could  be  possibly,  and  yet,  somehow,  your  wife  and 
daughter  got  out  of  this  house,  and  away  from  the 
place,  at  a  time  when  nobody  would  have  supposed 
would  dare  to  go  out  of  doors,  for  there  was  the 
most  terrible  tempest,  on  that  night,  I  ever  knew. 
They  must  have  gone  while  the  storm  was  raging,  for 
they  were  here  when  it  began,  and  I  came  here  just 
as  soon  as  it  abated  a  little,  and  found  the  door  that 
we  usually  enter,  unfastened.  You  know,  Colonel, 
that  door  which  opens  upon  the  piazza,  on  the  east 
side  of  the  house,  is  fastened  with  a  bolt,  and  must 
have  been  opened  on  the  inside.  I  didn't  suspect 
anything  had  happened,  until  after  the  breakfast-bell 
had  rung,  and  no  one  came  down.  I  stopped  to  break- 
fast that  morning,  and  after  waiting  ever  so  long  for 
the  ladies  to  present  themselves,  and  ringing  repeat- 
edly, Hannah  wei4  up  to  her  mistress'  room,  and 
found  it  vacant." 

"How  did  the  servants  appear?  "  inquired  Colonel 
Murray. 

"  They  looked  dismayed." 

"  Then  you  think  they  did  n't  know  of  the  departure 
of  my  wife  and  daughter  until  after  you  came  here,  on 
that  morning.'' 

"Yes*,  I  feel  sure  that  they  could  not  have  known 
anything  about-it.  The  idea  that  the  ladies  had  gone 
away  in  such  a  terrible  thunder-storm,  frightened 
them.  It  was  hard  for  them  to  believe  they  had  not 
been  carried  off  forcibly,  at  first.  Hannah  was  the 
first  to  admit  that  they  might  have  gone  off  volunta- 
rily, yet  I  do  not  believe  she  suspected  they  thought 
of  going  at  the  time   they  did  go,  though   I   am  not 


268  BESSIE    AND    UAYMOND. 

certain  but  she  had  an  idea  that  they  would  take  them- 
selves off,  some  time,  to  the  North.  I  questioned  her, 
but  I  could  n't  get  much  out  of  her  yet ;  as  far  as  she 
answered  my  questions,  I  think  she  told  the  truth  ;  she 
seems  to  have  considerable  conscience  about  what  she 
does  tell/' 

"  Hang  her  conscience  ;  I  '11  make  her  tell  me  all  she 
knows,  and  Sam,  too." 

"That  Sam,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  him  ; 
he  's  one  way  one  minute,  and  some  other,  a  minute 
after." 

After  a  long  pause,  Colonel  Murray  rang  the  bell 
loudly,  and  Sam  again  thrust  his  shining  face  within 
the  library  door,  asking,  "  What  does  massa  want  ?  " 

11 1  want  you  to  come  here,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Yah,  massa,"  said  the  slave,  as  he  again  pre- 
sented his  very  grave  countenance  to  his  master.  As 
he  stood  before  the  man  who*he  well  knew  had  unlim- 
ited power  over  his  person,  Sam  did  not  tremble,  or 
manifest  any  other  sign  of  fear,  and  Colonel  Murray 
was  more  puzzled  by  the  expression  of  his  face  than 
he  had  ever  been  before. 

"  Sam,"  asked  he,  "  did  you  tell  me  the  truth,  when 
you  said  you  did  n't  know  how  your  mistress  left  the 
house?  " 

"  Sartin  true,  I  did,  massa.  I  hope  to  die  dis  min- 
ute, if  I  did  n't  tell  de  truth  'bout  it," 

"  You  did  n't  see  her  go,  then  ?  " 

"Lor',  no,  massa.  Why,  'twas  de  orfullest  night 
dat  eber  was  seed.  I's  so  skeercd,  I  kep  my  head 
kivered  up  'n  bed.  I  hope  nobody  come  and  took 
Missus  and  Miss  Clary  off,  that's  all." 

The  Colonel. studied  the  face  of  his  servant,  while 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  2G9 

lie  gave  the  foregoing  account  of  what  had  occurred, 
but  could  make  out  no  more  than  he  had  often  done 
when  Sam  had  before  mystified  him. 

"If  I  find  out  that  you  have  lied  to  me,  Sam,  it  will 
go  hard  with  you,'7  said  the  Colonel. 

"  I  reckon  Sam  knows  ctat  ar  wal  'nough  to  tell  de 
truth  ;  but  massu.  nober  'd  ilnd  out  Sam  lied  dis  time, 
dat  's  sartin." 

The  Colonel  had  Ilaimah  summoned  before  him. 
"  Now,"    said  this  chivalric  gentleman,    "I  must 
have   you   tell   me   the   truth   about    your   mistress. 
Didn't  you  help  her  and  Clara  dress,  to  go  out  that 
night?" 

"  No,  massa." 

"  Did  n't  see  or  hear  them  leave  the  house  ?  " 
"  No,  massa  ;  I  never  seed  urn  go,  an'  nothin'  could 
be  heerd,  the  thunder  was  so  loud  ;  "  and  the  servant 
cried,  "  so  dar  was  no  hearin'  nothiu'.  I  never 
•'spected  dey  'd  go  off,  when  it  rained  an'  lightened  so 
dreffully,  I's  sure." 

"Then  you  expected  they  were  going  away  some- 
time, did  you  ?  " 

H  I's  kinder  'spected  it,  'coz  I  heern  missus  say,  one 
day,  '  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  get  to  my  mother  and 
sister  in  Massachusetts.'  I  blieve  dat  was  de  place 
she  told  on.  She  did  n't  know  's  I  heerd  her,  but  I 
'spected  she  meant  to  try  to  git  to  dat  place,  some- 
time. I  hope  de  good  Lor  took  care  ob  her,  and  Miss 
Clary,  in  dat  orful  storm,  if  dey  was  trav'lin  in  it ; 
anyhow,  I's  asked  him  to  look  arter  'em,  soon  7s  I 
knowed  dey  's  gone  ;  dat 's  all  I  could  do  for  7em." 
"  Didn't  you  pray  that  they  might  return  to  their 
23* 


270  BESSrE    AND    RAYMOND. 

home,  Hannah?"  asked  Colonel  Murray,  thinking  he 
should  learn  something  by  her  answer. 

Hannah  did  not  reply  immediately,  and  the  question 
was  repeated  with  emphasis,  and  she  was  threatened 
with  punishment  if  she  did  not  tell  the  truth. 

"  'Pears  like  I-couldn't  tell  nothin'  but  dat  is  right 
'bout  it,  massa  ;  and  de  bressed  Lor  knows  I  did  n't 
tink  to  pray  dat  ar,  no  ways." 

"Yon  are  glad,  then,  to  have  your  mistress  away, 
are  you?  " 

"  No,  massa,  not  dat ;  I's  sorry  like,  as  dey  did. 
Massa  Jones,  a  while  back,  Sam  heerd  'em  say  dey 
was  comin'  dat  night,  so  it  made  me  glad  to  have  de 
tunder  and  lightnin'  cum  dat  ar  night.  I  tole  Miss 
Clary  all  Sam  heerd,  and  I  was  so  glad  dese  men 
did  n't  cum,  I  e'en  a'most  cried  for  joy,  'til  I  find  out 
Missus  had  dun  gone  off  somewhar,  and  den  I  feel  bad 
'cause  I  dunno  whar  she  be." 

There  was  an  air  of  Christian  sincerity  about  Han- 
nah, which  inspired  trust,  even  in  the  hearts  of  the 
most  suspicious.  Colonel  Murray  did  not  doubt  her 
word  on  this  occasion ;  the  revelation  she  had  made, 
however,  was  mortifying  to  him.  He  dismissed  her  from 
his  presence,  and  then  interrogated  Smith,  in  regard 
to  what  had  transpired  in  his  absence.  This  apology 
for  a  man  was  forced  to  admit  that  Mrs.  Murray  and 
her  daughter- had  doubtless  escaped  insult,  if  not  in- 
jury, by  leaving  their  home  at  just  the  time  they  had 
done  so.  The  indignation  of  the  Colonel  was  roused 
by  hearing  this  statement,  and  his  pride  was  sorely 
wounded  besides. 

"  To  think,"  said  he,  "  that  any  of  my  family  should 
have  been  exposed  to  the  violence  of  a  mob.     Worse 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  271 

still,  to  be  obliged  to  feel  that  their  porverseness  in 
maintaining  their  own  ultra  opinions  has  brought  dis- 
grace upon  me." 

"  People  can't  be  blamed  for  becoming  excited  in 
such  times  as  these,  and  it  seems  strange  that  women 
folks  don't  fall  in  with  others,  in  their  way  of 
thinking. 

"A  d  —  n  mean  piece  of  business,  this,  to  be  trans- 
acted on  my  premises.  How  did  you  convince  the 
men  that  assembled  here,  that  there  were  no  tones 
here?" 

"  I  happen  to  have  some  influence  with  one  of  the 
leaders,  and  he  kept  the  rest  back,  while  I  went  through 
the  house  and  over  the  place  to  convince  him  that  the 
birds  he  sought,  were  flown.  He  stated  this  fact  to 
the  men  who  were  waiting,  and  asked  me  to  offer  to 
treat  them  to  a  drink  if  they  would  go  away  quietly. 
They  swore  a  strong  round  at  first,  but,  after  being* 
told  that  they  should  have  plenty  of  liquor,  they  were 
pacified,  and  having  drank  full  as  much  as  was  good 
for  them,  they  went  away." 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,"  said  Colonel  Murray,  "too 
bad,  that  a  man  must  be  mortified  so." 

"  Men  will  go  too  far  sometimes  ;  I  know  it 's  too 
bad,"  replied  Smith. 

"  True,  but  we  here  at  the  South  have  had  such 
great  provocations,"  said  the  other,  f  I  don't  know," 
he  continued,  "  what  has  possessed  my  wife  and 
daughter  to  adopt  sentiments  that  I  abominate  ;  and 
now  too,  both  have  deserted  me,  and,  not  content  with 
that,  they  have  contrived  to  get  Edgar  away,  before 
they  went  themselves.  I  shall  let  them  feel  that  I  am 
not  to  be  trilled  with.     They  will  be  glad  to  get  back 


272  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

when  their  money  is  gone  ;  they  cannot  have  much 
with  them,  and  their  Yankee  friends  are  not  wealthy. " 

With  this  reflection,  this  lonely  lord  of  his  man- 
sion consoled  himself  for  a  time,  yet  there  came  to  him 
moments  when  the  sight  of  objects  about  the  house, 
which  were  associated  with  the  remembrance  of  a  wife 
and  daughter  he  had  unkindly  treated,  brought  a 
sting  to  his  bosom.  He  could  not  bear  to  look  at  any- 
thing that  had  been  used  by  either  his  wife  or  chil- 
dren, and  ordered  every  such  article  to  be  removed 
from  his  sight. 

Conscience,  that  faithful  monitor,  more  than  once 
whispered  to- this  forsaken  father  and  husband,  that  he 
had  driven  his  family  from  him  by  unkindness,  but' 
these  gentle  whispers  were  at  once  silenced  by  the 
man  who  had  madly  and  blindly  risked  everything  that 
ought  to  be  dear  to  him,  for  the  sake  of  the  bogus  Con- 
federacy of  the  South.  This  was  the  hobby  he  had 
begun  to  ride  with  the  hope  of  aggrandizement,  and  he 
would  continue  to  ride  it,  too,  even  if  he  failed  in  real- 
izing his  own  ambitious  wishes  for  a  time  ;  he  would,  in 
the  end,  become  a  great  man,  and  belong  to  a  great 
country,  that  he  had  assisted  in  making  independent 
of  everything,  even  the  law  of  God. 

Colonel  Murray  did  not  say  this  in  so  many  words, 
it  is  true  ;  still,  this  was  the  result  of  his  reasoning, 
and  also  of  the  reasoning  of  every  other  secessionist, 
or  secession  sympathizer,  in  our  land.  Are  not  such 
deluded  mortals  entitled  to  our  pity  ?  Yes,  we  must 
pity  their  infatuation,  while  we  blame  their  faults, 
and  sustain  the  glorious  Government,  which  they 
would  overthrow,  by  "  the  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of 
Gideon.' '     We  must  battle  for  the  right,  iti  humble 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  273 

dependence  upon  God,  if  we  would  succeed  in  our  ef- 
forts, for  God  will  be  acknowledged  by  the  creatures 
of  His  sovereign  power. 

Colonel  Murray  did  not  think  to  look  for  a  letter  or 
some  communication  from  his  wife,  until  after  all  his 
inquiries  respecting  her,  had  resulted  in  disappoint- 
ment, lie  then  bethought  himself  to  look  in  her 
chamber  for  something  which  might  enlighten  him. 
He  entered  the  room  where,  during  many  of  the  re- 
cent years  of  his  life,  he  had  seldom  failed  to  find  her. 
He  searched  the  drawers  of  her  bureau,  but  found 
nothing  ;  then  took  up  a  book  that  lay  upon  the  top  of 
the  bureau,  and,  on  opening  it,  found  a  letter,  super- 
scribed to  him,  in  the  handwriting  of  his  wife.  He 
sat  down,  took  the  letter  from  its  envelope  in  haste, 
and  read  as  follows  :  — 

My  owx,-and  once  very  dear  Husband  :  — 

When  your  eye  rests  upon  these  lines,  I  shall  be 
far  away  from  you  ;  also  both  our  children.  I  cannot 
go  without  informing  you  of  my  place  of  destination. 
I  shall  endeavor  to  reach  my  friends  in  Massachusetts, 
as  soon  as  possible.  It  is  not  in  anger  that  I  leave 
you,  but  in  sorrow  ;  my  heart  bleeds  as  I  reflect  upon 
the  cause  of  our  separation.  It  is  so  unholy,  so  base, 
so  heaven-daring.  Would  you  could  see  treason  in 
the  same  light  in  which  I  view  it ;  then  would  the 
right  arm  you  raise  against  our  Government,  be  un- 
equal to  striking  a  blow  against  the  dear  flag  of  our 
Union.  But  you  will  not  see  ;  and  all  that  remains 
for  your  poor  afflicted  wife  to  do,  is  to  wait  and  pray 
for  you,  my  misguided  husband.  Do  not  throw  aside 
this  letter  in  anger ;  do  not  spurn  the  memory  of  one 
who  is  still  faithful  in  heart  to  you.  You  well  know 
that  my  person  is  not  safe  here  amid  the  clamor  of  an 
excited  rabble,  who  rush  recklessly  on  to  accumplish 


274  BESSIE   AND   EAYMOND. 

their  terrible  purposes.  Judging  from  what  I  have 
witnessed  of  outrage  perpetrated  upon  others,  for 
their  love  to  the  Union,  I  cannot  suppose  I  shall  re- 
main much  longer  unmolested.  I,  or  we,  for  Clara 
will  go  too,  shall  therefore  avail  ourselves  of  the  first 
thunder  tempest  that  rises  mid  the  darkness  of  night, 
to  leave  unseen  a  home,  which,  but  for  this  frenzy 
of  the  South  in  withdrawing  from  the  loved  Union, 
might  now  be  a  happy  one.  If  you  spurn  us  for  this 
act  forever,  it  must  be  so,  and  I  must  live  without 
you  ;  but  if  you  ever  change  in  regard  to  the  views 
you  now  entertain,  and  wish  to  rejoin  your  family, 
you  will  find  your  wife  ready  to  welcome  you,  and 
forget  all  these  dark  and  trying  days,  in  the  happiness 
of  a  pleasant  reunion. 

Do  not  blame  any  of  the  servants  for.  any  part  you 
may  imagine  they  have  taken  in  assisting  us  to  leave, 
for  the  poor  affectionate  creatures  are  innocent,  and 
no  doubt  will  feel  anxious  about  our  disappearance. 
If  you  ever  wish  to  hear  from  us,  it  will  be  easy  for 
you  to  get  word  to  me  through  some  Massachusetts 
soldier  ;  that  is,  any  word  which  it  would  be  desirable 
for  you  to  send.  And  now  I  must  bid  you  adieu  ;  yet 
not  forever,  unless  you  choose  it  shall  be  so. 
Your  afflicted  wife, 

Clara  Murray. 

October,  1862. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  this  fancied  Lord  of  creation,  when 
he  had  perused  the  letter.  "  She  can  stay  with  her 
plebeian  relatives,  for  I  shall  never  notice  her  more. 
'T  is  too  bad,  however,  for  a  man  to  be  robbed  of  his 
children  in  such  an  underhanded  way  ;  she  don't  say 
that  Edgar  is  with  her,  but  I've  no  dbubt  she  's  con- 
trived before  this,  to  get  him  to  that  infernal  State, 
the  very  last  place  where  I  'd  wish  my  boy  to  finish 
his  education.     However,  I  can  do  nothing  now  ;  but 


BESSIE    AND    HAYMOND.  275 

by  and  by,  if  our  forces  invade  the  North,  I'll  make 
that  insolent  woman,  and  Clara,  too,  eat  humble  pie 
for  their  perfidious  actions." 

Having  relieved  himself  by  muttering  the  threat  he 
could  not  expect  to  execute,  he  looked  at  the  missive 
of  his  wife  a  moment,  hesitating  whether  to  destroy, 
or  leave  it  for  a  future  perusal.  He  then  threw  it  into 
a  drawer,  and  turning  the  key  upon  it,  which  he  after- 
wards hid,  he  left  the  room  to  attend  to  whatever 
business  he  might  find  had  accumulated  during  his 
absence. 

We  will  leave  him  thus  employed  for  the  present, 
to  mingle  in  scenes  that  are  not  overshadowed  by  his 
dark  presence. 


276  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"  But  gratitude  still  lives,  and  loves  to  cherish 
The  patriot's  virtues." 

"  Not  for  myself  did  I  ascend, 

In  judgment,  my  triumphal  car : 
'  T  was  God  alone,  on  high,  did  send  " 

The  avenging  Scythian  to  the  war ;  — 
To  shake  abroad,  with  iron  hand, 
The  appointed  scourge  of  His  command." 

Wje  must  now  follow  the  fortunes  of  our  friend  Ray- 
mond, for  a  while.  At  this  period  in  our  story,  he  is 
as  valiant  for  the  right  as  ever  ;  and  as  cheerful  in  the 
performance  of  duty,  as  if  there  were  no  feeling  of 
sadness  lurking  in  his  breast,  on  account  of  the  per 
verseness  of  the  object  of  his  affections.  He  is  now 
anxiously  awaiting  a  summons  to  the  field  of  strife,  and 
he  wonders  whether  General  Hooker  will  be  any  more 
successful  in  attacking  Fredericksburg,  than  was  Gen- 
eral Burnside. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait,  however,  before  a  forward 
movement  was  made,  by  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
and  our  forces  were  met  by  that  renowned  Rebel, 
known  to  the  world  as  Stonewall  Jackson.  It  is  not 
for  us  to  give  to  our  readers  an  account  of  this  battle, 
or  its  result,  farther  than  it  concerned  Raymond.  It 
will  be  remembered  by  all  interested,  that  the  great- 
est of  Rebel  generals  received  his  death-blow  during 
this  conflict. 

His  fall  was  a  severe  blow  to  the  Confederate  army  ; 
they  could  illy  afford  to  lose  him,  and  they  felt  his 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  277 

loss  severely,  not  only  at  the  time  of  his  death,  but 
subsequently,  when  they  were  made  to  feel  the  need 
of  his  sagacity  and  iron  will.  General  Lee  has  never 
filled  his  place. 

Many  hearts  were  made  sorrowful  by  that  battle, 
and  some,  in  such  a  way,  that  the  wound  then  given 
cannot  be  healed  by  comfort  coming  from  any  earthly 
source.  Of  some,  it  has  been  said,  ever  since  that  sad 
period,  "  They  are  missing."  Missing,  but  where  can 
they  be  ?  ask  the  fond  hearts  of  mothers,  wives,  and 
sisters.  But  only  echo  answers,  Where  ?  to  the  sad 
and  oft-repeated  question.  Some  there  are,  who  have 
suffered  from  cruel  suspense,  since  that  battle,  and 
some  too,  there  are,  who  have  not  heard  from  their 
friends  since  the  first  battle  that  was  fought  at  Fred- 
ericksburg. 

Who  shall  attempt  to  comfort  those,  thus  bereaved  ? 
We  are  coldly  told  by  some,  that  such  calamities  are 
the  fate  of  war ;  that  we  ought  to  have  expected  such 
trials,  when,  we  gave  our  loved  ones  to  our  country. 
We  do  not  need  to  be  told  this  ;  we  acknowledge, 
that  when  we  laid  our  friends  upon  the  altar  of  our 
common  country,  we  felt  that  we  might  be  called  to 
great  suffering,  on  their  account  ;  still,  we  feel  as 
acutely  these  tortures  of  suspense,  as  if  we* had  not 
long  ago,  at  times,  pictured  such  trials  in  our  imag- 
ination. But  here  we  are  digressing  again,  without 
intending  to  do  so. 

Kaymond  Philips  was  wounded  on  the  same  day 
that  Stonewall  Jackson  fell.  He  performed  his  duty 
bravely,  until  a  shot  from  the  enemy  laid  him  low. 
He  was  borne  from  the  field  weltering  in  his  blood,  the 
loss  of  which  prostrated  his  strength  rapidly.  He 
24 


278  '        BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

was  placed  in  a  hospital  tent,  and  his  wound,  which 
was  in  his  left  arm,  dressed  as  soon  as  it  could  consist- 
ently be  attended  to.  Every  attention  was  paid  him 
that  the  circumstances  allowed,  for  he  was  greatly  be- 
loved by  the  men,  as  well  as  by  his  brother  officers, 
and  no  pains  were  spared  in  administering  to  his  com- 
fort. Still  he  lingered,  even  after  he  was  carried  to 
a  hospital  near  Washington,  where  could  be  found 
greater  facilities  for  procuring  necessaries  for  the  gal- 
lant soldiers,  who  were  suffering  from  sickness  or 
wounds,  far  from  home  and  friends.  Yet  not  far  from 
friends  were  all,  for  some  had  made  many  friends 
during  the  months  they  had  spent  on  the  tented 
field. 

Among  these  was  Raymond  Philips.  His  kindli- 
ness of  manner  pleased,  while  his  straightforwardness 
gained  him  the  confidence  of  some,  even,  who  thought 
him  too  puritanical  in  his  notions  of  right.  Raymond 
strove  to  maintain  his  profession  of  love  to  his  Saviour, 
consistently,  amid  the  temptations  of  camp  life,  as  well 
as  in  all  other  places  to  which  duty  called  him.  His 
presence  in  the  hospital  cheered  many  a  poor  soldier, 
for  he  was  patient  and  cheerful,  and  as  soon  as  he  re 
gained  strength  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  converse, 
he  used  it,  to  comfort  if  possible,  the  sad  and  despond- 
ing, about  him.  We  scarcely  need  tell  our  readers, 
that  he  was  one  of  those  to  whom  it  afforded  comfort 
to  lady  visitors  at  the  hospital  to  minister.  These 
attentions,  which  he  received  in  the  guise  of  little  del- 
icacies, were  most  grateful  to  his  heart,  still  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  enjoy  them  fully,  unless  the  men, 
whom  some  have  termed  "  only  privates,"  could  share 
them  with  him. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  279 

"These  are  they,"  said  Raymond  one  day  to  some 
ladies  who  had  kindly  brought  him  some  tempting 
articles  of  refreshment,  "these  are  the  men  who  have 
devoted  their  lives  to  their  country,  and  they  merit  all 
the  attention  you  can  bestow  upon  them.  .  I  would 
deny  myself  anything  I  crave,  rather  than  have 
these  noble  soldiers  do  without  what  is  essential  to 
their  comfort  ;  "  and  many  a  luxury  was  given  to  the 
privates  through  his  instrumentality. 

The  first  duty  required  of  Raymond,  after  he  was 
able  to  converse,  was  to  dictate  a  letter  to  a  fellow- 
soldier  who  consented  to  act  as  amanuensis,  to  be 
written  to  his  mother.  He  knew  that  reports  of  his 
case  must  cause  her  great  anxiety,  and  therefore  he 
told  her  in  the  most  cautious  manner,  that  although 
he  was  weak,  he  was  fast  recovering  and  might  possi- 
bly obtain  leave  of  absence,  to  allow  him  to  visit  his 
home  for  a  few  days,  ere  he  returned  to  the  post  of 
duty  again. 

Having  seen  this  missive  despatched,  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  performance  of  the  duty  of  the  hour. 
As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  move  about  a  little,  he 
sought  out,  as  far  as  practicable,  those  who  seemed 
most  in  need  of  sympathy  and  kindness.  Everywhere 
his  presence  was  greeted  with  a  smile  by  the  poor  and 
distressed,  for  he  was  known  as  a  friend  to  suffering 
humanity ;  one  who  was  not  afraid  of  being  contam- 
inated if  he  approached  very  near  the  couch  of  a  sick 
or  wounded  fellow-man. 

This  could  not  be  said  truthfully  of  all,  even  of  wo- 
man ;  for  some  of  the  gentler  sex,  as  we  are  called, 
dare  not  visit  a  hospital,  and  walk  through  the  differ- 
ent wards,  without  keeping  a  smelling-bottle  at  their 


280  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

nose,  thus  wounding  the  feelings  of  the  men,  who 
have  fought  and  bled  to  save,  if  possible,  our  dear  land 
from  ruin.  Such  had  better  never  intrude  their  pres- 
ence into  these  habitations  of  distress,  for  the  noble 
boys  who  have  been  made  to  suffer  from  their  love  of 
country,  ought  not  to  be  treated  thus  by  those  for 
whose  welfare  they  have  fought.  If  women  or  females, 
who  are  so  strangely  devoid  of  feeling  as  to  act  thus, 
could  only  see  how  ridiculous  they  appear,  we  are 
sure  they  would  never  play  so  ludicrous  a  part,  with  a 
hospital  for  a  stage,  again. 

One  young  man,  who  suffered  long  and  terribly  from 
a  wound  in  his  leg,  has  expressed  himself  very  feeling- 
ly upon  this  subject  to  a  lady  living  in  Rhode  Island, 
who  became  his  friend,  by  visiting  the  Asylum  where 
he  was  confined,  and  offering  her  services  in  adminis- 
tering to  the  comfort  of  the  patients.  A  matron  re- 
quested this  lady  to  assist  her,  by  holding  the  wounded 
limb  of  this  young  man  while  it  should  be  dressed. 
The  lady  did  not  shrink  from  the  task,  trying  as  it 
was  to  the  feelings  of  one  like  herself,  who  had  never 
beheld  so  bad  a  wound  before,  but  she  wisely  reflected 
that  if  the  patient  could  bear  the  pain  of  it  all  the  time, 
it  was  little  in  comparison  for  her  delicate  nerves  to 
sustain  the  shock  of  looking  at  this  mark  of  a  soldier's 
honor  for  a  little  while.  And  she  performed  her  part 
well  and  creditably  to  her  sex. 

By  that  soldier  she  will  never  be  forgotten,  or  by 
others  whose  burning  brows  she  bathed  with  cold  wa- 
ter, and  whose  parched  lips  and  tongues  she  refreshed, 
by  administering,  in  gentle  kindness,  some  cooling 
draught  to  quench  their  thirst.  This  lady  was  after- 
wards told  by  the  soldier  who  was  her  first  care  on  the 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  281 

occasion  of  the  visit  alluded  to,  that  he  knew  when 
his  eye  first  rested  upon  her  countenance,  as  she  ap- 
proached him,  that  she  had  not  come  in  to  gratify  an 
idle  curiosity,  like  those  ladies  who  find  a  smelling- 
bottle  an  essential  attendant  on  their  visit. 

"We  poor  fellows,"  said  the  young  man,  "wish 
these  ladies  would  stay  away ;  we  don't  care  to  be 
made  a  spectacle  for  the  curious.  Some  of  us  have 
wives,  mothers,  and  sisters,  more  refined  than  these 
butterfly  women  ever  can  be.  We  know  what  belongs 
to  good  breeding,  if  we  are  only  privates.  It  amuses 
us  boys,  to  see  these  would-be-nice  ladies  come  along, 
and  look  at  one  poor  fellow  after  another,  as  they  trip 
disdainfully  through  the  wards.  One  day,  I  almost 
laughed  in  the  face  of  one  of  these  visitors,  who  came 
along  and  spoke  to  a  poor  boy  near  me,  who  was  very 
sick.     Said  she  to  him,  '  Are  you  very  ill  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  ma'am/  was  the  feeble  answer,  and  then  the 
twist  of  the  lady'snose,  and  her  '  0/  as  she  passed 
him  with  her  aromatic  bottle  in  use,  upset  my  gravity 
entirely,  so  I  could  scarcely  reply  at  all,  when  she  put 
the  same  question  to  me,  a  minute  afterwards.  I  sup- 
pose she  thought  me  a  graceless  fellow,  but  I  could 
not  command  my  feelings  or  muscles  for  the  moment. 
My  sense  of  the  ludicrous  is  too  strong  to  admit  of  my 
being  brought  in  contact  with  such  females,  without 
having  it  provoked." 

Raymond  not  unfrequently  witnessed  such  scenes 
as  this  young  mar.  described,  and,  like  him,  wondered 
that  such  women  should  at  any  time  enter  a  hospital, 
unless  summoned  there  to  see  a  dying  friend.  He  also 
noticed  that  the  soldiers,  as  they  lay  upon  their  beds, 
studied  habitually  the  countenances  of  visitors,  and 
24* 


282  bessie  a>:d  Raymond. 

they  seldom  judged  incorrectly,  in  respect  to  the  char- 
acters of  persons  who  came  near  them. 

"  We  know  very  soon,  when  a  lady  comes  in, 
whether  we  are  to  be  any  better  off  for  her  coming, 
for  her  eyes  always  tell  us  at  once.  It  is  so  pleasant 
to  have  a  fellow's  head  bathed,  and  have  words  of 
kindness  spoken  to  him,  that  we  watch  anxiously  for 
the  coining  of  such  everyday." 

These  remarks  of  the  sick  man  Raymond  stated  in 
a  letter  to  his  mother,  for  he  wrote  often,  after  he  had 
strength  enough  to  write  at  all. 

"Mother,"  said  this  Christian  patriot,  "I  have 
been  learning  in  this  hospital,  and  some  of  the  lessons 
taught  me  here,  will,  I  trust,  do  me  good  always. 
There  is  one  thing  which  I  have  learned,  that  I  want 
to  have  you  teach  to  all,  especially  the  young  people 
whom  you  can  influence,  and  that  is,  the  very  great 
value  there  is  attached  to  very  trifling  things.  I  pre- 
sume, my  dear  mother,  that  you  have  learned  this 
long  ago,  for  I  remember  you  have  tried  to  impress 
the  importance  of  this  fact  upon  my  mind  ;  yet  I  have 
never  fully  realized  it  until  now.  I  here  often  see 
gladness  depicted  upon  the  face  of  a  man,  by  a  seem- 
ing trifle  ;  a  look  expressive  of  sympathy,  a  tear  it 
may  be,  or  a  hand  laid  tenderly  upon  a  burning  brow. 
Sometimes  a  pleasant  smile,  even,  will  act  like  a 
charm  upon  a  desponding  heart.  These,  little  things, 
which  are  in  the  power  of  all  to  give,  are  invaluable  to 
the  suffering.  Do  not  the  ladies  of  our  land  owe 
something  to  these  brave  ones,  who  have  perilled  life, 
health,  and  limbs,  to  help  secure  to  them  the  bless- 
ings of  our  benign  Government  ? 

"  I  feel  assured  that  every  reflecting  person  will  ad- 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  283 

mit  that  they  do.  Then  let  each  and  all  the  ladies  of 
the  Union,  practise  a  small  amount  of  self-denial,  to 
do  something  for  the  sick  and  wounded  soldiers.  Do 
any  think  that  thej  cannot  make  farther  retrenchments 
in  their  expenses  ?  Let  them  reflect  long  and  seriously 
upon  this  subject,  ere  they  decide  to  do  no  more  for 
those  who  are  so  richly  entitled  to  their  kindness  and 
gratitude.  It  must  be  kept  in  mind  that  it  is  the  pri- 
vates who  fight  our  battles.  It  is  true  we  have  many 
brave  officers,  yet  what  would  they  do  without  the 
men  to  breast  the  foe  ?  You  will,  my  mother,  feel 
that  I  have  spoken  earnestly.  I  grant  that  I  have, 
for  I  feel  intensely  upon  this  subject ;  and  could  you, 
and  many  of  the  ladies  of  our  land,  spend  but  one  day, 
where  I  have  passed  weeks,  you  would  not  be  sur- 
prised at  my  earnestness  ;  you  would  rather  wonder, 
perhaps,  that  I  feel  no  more.  I  may  see  you  ere- 
long, dear  mother,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  of  much, 
that  will  incite  you  to  act  for  the  suffering  soldiers.'7 


284  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"  One  part,  one  little  part,  we  dimly  scan 
Through  the  dark  medium  of  life's  feverish  dream." 

Some  there  are,  who  can  bear  to  be  unwelcome  guests. 

"  There  comes  Aunt  Amey  Benson,  if  I  live,"  said 
Minnie  Granger,  one  afternoon  in  the  Spring  of  18 — . 
The  mother  of  Minnie  raised  her  eyes  from  a  piece  of 
"york  she  was  in  haste  to  finish,  and  saw  the  veritable 
Aunt  Amey  approaching  the  side  door  of  the  house, 
by  coming  through  a  little  flower-garden,  which  was 
the  pet  care  of  Minnie.  Mrs.  Granger  sighed  as  she 
beheld  her  visitor  approach ;  she  could  not  help  it  ;  for 
she  knew  full  well  that  the  presence  of  this  relative 
would  bring  a  shadow  over  her  now  bright  home. 
She  was,  however,  a  Christian,  and  endeavored  to  be 
guided  by  the  golden  rule,  in  all  her  acts  toward  her 
fellow-beings. 

She  met  Aunt  Amey  at  the  door,  and  offered  her 
hand  cordially  ;  then,  perceiving  that  the  old  lady  was 
out  of  breath,  and  greatly  fatigued  by  walking,  she 
put  her  arm  about  her,  and  supported  her  to  a  seat 
that  was  near,  kindly  bidding  her  rest  awhile  before 
speaking,  or  taking  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"0  dear,"  said  Aunt  Amey,  "  I  am  a  poor  crea- 
ture ;  I  don't  know  as  you  are  glad  to  see  me,  but 
I've  come  to  plague  you  for  a  few  days.  You  '11  let 
me  stay,  won't  you,  Minnie  ?  " 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Granger,  who 
answered  that  she  would  try  and  make  her  comforta- 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  285 

ble  for  a  few  days,  notwithstanding  the  family  were 
much  engaged  in  sewing,  which  they  must  accomplish 
without  delay. 

"Well,  I  supposed  you  wouldn't  be  glad  to  have 
me  come,  but  I  shall  stay,  if  you  have  n't  told  me  you 
are  glad  to  see  me." 

Mrs.  Granger  did  not  know  how  to  reply  truthfully 
to  this  tirade,  and  therefore  remained  silent.  Minnie 
had  heard  this  conversation  from  an  adjoining  room, 
to  which  she  had  fled  ere  Aunt  Amey  entered  the 
house.  This  lively  girl  was  both  amused  and  annoyed 
at  the  prospect  which  had  so  suddenly  opened  before 
her,  of  having  to  practise  great  self-denial  for  an  in- 
definite period,  for  she  had  good  reason  to  fear  that 
Aunt  Amey's  few  days  would  not  end  until  some 
weeks  had  gone  by.  She  had  been  congratulating 
herself  mentally,  only  a  few  minutes  before  this  old 
lady  came  in  sight,  that  her  family  would  escape 
the  trial  of  a  visit  from  this  uneasy  relative  that  year, 
for  she  was  too  far  off  to  reach  them. 

Minnie  believed  Aunt  Amey  was  regaling  herself 
with  rural  sights  and  sounds  in  Minnesota,  where  the 
spring  season  opens  most  beauteously,  and  her  dis- 
appointment was  great  to  find  it  was  otherwise. 
But  Minnie  Granger  was  her  mother's  own  child,  and 
she  had  only  to  combat  inclination  a  few  minutes,  ere 
she  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  case,  and  re- 
ceive this  relative,  whom  she  could  not  really  love, 
with  the  respect  due  to  her  age.  She  soon  emerged 
from  her  hiding-place,  and  saluted  Aunt  Amey  with 
respect,  offering  her  hand  at  the  same  time,  which  the 
old  lady  grasped  so  warmly,  that  the  want  of  cordial- 
ity on  the  part  of  the  young  girl  was  unnoticed  by 
her. 


286  BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND. 

After  tea,  she  informed  the  family  that,  after  resting 
a  while,  she  wished  to  hear  the  evening"  paper  read  by 
some  one.  "  I  prefer  to  hear*you  read,  Minnie,''  said 
she,  addressing  her  niece,  or  grand-niece,  rather,  for 
the  old  lady  was  aunt  to  Minnie's  mother.  The  unfor- 
tunate girl  could  offer  no  reasonable  excuse  for  refus- 
ing to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  Aunt  Amey  ;  she 
therefore  seated  herself  by  the  table  as  soon  as  the 
paper  arrived,  which  proved  to  be  the  Boston  Evening 
Journal,  and  commenced  the  Herculean  task  of  read- 
ing through  its  four  large  pages  of  finely  printed 
matter,  for  she  had  been  instructed  by  her  "  big  aunt,'' 
as  she  playfully  termed  Aunt  Amey,  to  commence 
reading  at  the  beginning  of  the  paper. 

Minnie  at  first  remonstrated,  by  asking  if  it 
wouldn't  be  best  to  read  the  "  war-news  "  first.  But 
this  did  not  avail  her  much,  for  the  old  lady  declared 
that  there  might  be  a  great  deal  lost  by  reading  a 
paper  in  that  way  ;  still,  if  it  was  a  great  bore  to  such 
a  smart  young  lady  as  she  was,  to  read  an  hour  or 
two,  she  would  n't  ask  her  to  read  again  very  soon. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  so,  Aunt  Amey  ;  I  can  read  all  you 
wish  me  to,"  replied  Minnie.  Accordingly,  she  com- 
menced at  the  head  of  the  first  column  of  the  paper, 
and  plodded  through  it,  with  an  aching  throat.  She 
did  not  accomplish  this  task  without  interruption, 
however,  for  it  was  wcllnigh  impossible  for  Aunt  Amey 
to  listen  patiently  to  any  statement  that  was  made  in 
her  hearing,  without  contradicting  it ;  much  less  could 
she  admit  by  becoming  silence,  when  hearing  news- 
paper reports,  that  she  believed  such  doubtful  state- 
ments. 

"  That 's  a  lie.     I  know  better  than  to  believe  such 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  2^7 

stuil'  M  that,"  were  the  frequent  responses  to  Minnie, 
as  she  read  the  many  items  of  news  the  Journal  con- 
tained. Minnie's  mother  pitied  her  daughter  very 
much,  yet  was  pleated  to  see  her  bear  herself  nobly, 
through  this  torturing  trial. 

A  letter  was  brought  in  and  handed  to  Mrs.  Gran- 
ger, while  Minnie  was  striving  hard  to  preserve  her 
equanimity,  and  satisfy  her  auditor  with  news.  This 
afforded  her  a  rest  of  a  few  moments,  for  Aunt  Amey 
eagerly  inquired  about  the  letter,  who  and  where  it 
came  from,  with  other  rapidly  repeated  interrogations, 
to  which  her  niece  responded  by  saying,  "  I  will  read 
my  letter  soon,  after  I  have  first  looked  it  over.  It  is 
from  Aleck  ;  so  we  can-  expect  to  hear  from  Charles 
Abbott,  also,  as  Aleck  generally  keeps  us  advised  of 
his  whereabouts  and  condition. 

Minnie,  as  might  be  expected,  was  delighted  to  hear 
from  her  brother,  and  not  less  so,  to  receive  tidings  of 
.Charles  Abbott,  Both  these  young  men  were  in  Gen- 
eral Banks's  division,  and  the  thoughts  of  all  who 
loved  them  had  begun  to  turn  anxiously  towards  the 
vicinity  of  Port  Hudson.  Every  paper  they  read  con- 
tained some  item  in  regard  to  this  dangerous  expedi- 
tion, and  Minnie  felt  it  was  a  matter  of  rejoicing,  that 
her  brother  had  been  in  a  condition  to  write  as  recently 
as  ten  days  before  that  evening.  She  waited  in  silence 
for  her  mother  to  look  over  her  missive  ;  yet  not  so 
did  x\unt  Amey. 

She  merely  allowed  the  mother  to  take  the  letter  of 
her  son  from  the  envelope  that  contained  it,  and  glance 
at  the  date,  before  she  began  to  pull  at  her  sleeve,  and 
ask  her  to  hurry  and  read  the  missive  aloud.  "  Come, 
you  need  n't  mind  me  ;  you  know  I  am  interested  in 


288  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

all  that  relates  to  the  war,  especially  all  that  concerns 
Aleck  and  Charlie.  I  know  all  about  it,  Minnie  ;  you 
can't  tell  me  anything,  I  guess,  so  you  may  as  well 
let  your  mother  read  the  letter  aloud." 

"  I  was  n't  doing  anything  to  hinder  her  reading  it, 
auntie,  did  you  think  I  was?  " 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  be  willing,  perhaps,  to 
have  your  old  auntie  know  about  Charlie  ;  but  I  do 
know." 

"  I  will  read  this  letter  aloud  now,  if  you  will  listen, 
Aunt  Amey,"  said  Mrs.  Granger. 

"  Do,"  said  the  other  ;  and  she  listened  quietly  until 
her  niece  had  nearly  perused  the  first  page  ;  then  her 
combativeness  would  not  admit  of  her  being  still, 
longer,  for  Aleck  had  said  that,  on  the  last  few  lines, 
which  her  faith  could  not  grasp. 

"We  shall  have  Port  Hudson,"  wrote  the  young 
man,  "the  Rebels  may  say  what  they  will.  The  sons 
of  rocky  New  England  which  are  here,  are  not  to  be 
daunted.  The  star-spangled  banner  must  and  will 
float  to  the  breeze,  over  the  enemy's  works  here,  before 
next  August." 

"  £ho,"  said  Aunt  Amey;  "that's  all  nonsense; 
they  won't  do  any  such  thing,  I  know." 

"  How  do  you  know,  auntie  ?  "  arose  to  the  lips  of 
Minnie,  but  she  forbore  to  speak  the  words,  and  her 
mother  proceeded  with  the  missive.  She  read  farther 
this  time,  without  interruption,  for  Aunt  Amey  had  a 
feeling  heart,  and  the  silent'  tear  coursed  down  her 
cheek,  as  she  listened  to  accounts  which  Aleck  had 
penned,  of  the  sickness  and  death  of  some  of  his  brave 
comrades.  After  Mrs.  Granger  had  finished  reading, 
Aunt  Amey  said,  sorrowfully  — 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  289 

"  When  will  this  terrible  war  be  over  ?  " 

"If  you  mean  to  ask  me  when,"  answered  Mrs. 
Granger,  "  I  shall  be  obliged  to  reply  that  I  cannot  im- 
agine when  it  will  cease  ;  but,  Aunt  Amey,  our  affairs 
are  under  the  direction  of  an  infinitely  wise  Being,  and 
therefore  all  will,  in  the  end,  be  well." 

"I  don't  see  the  well,  Minnie  Granger;  I  know 
Christians  pray,  but  how  do  they  know  that  their 
prayers  will  ever  be  answered  ?  It  is  all  of  two  full 
years,  now,  since  this  Rebellion  began." 

"  It  is  more  than  two  years,  Aunt  Amey,"  said  the 
younger  Minnie  ;  "it  is  two  years  since  the  enemies 
of  our  Government  resorted  to  arms.  They  rebelled 
long  before;  treason  is  an  old  crime  in  our  land; 
twenty  or  thirty  years  old  at  least." 

"  I  suppose  what  you  say  is  true,  Minnie,  but  I  am 
perplexed  greatly  with  the  way  in  which  things  go  on 
in  this  country,  and  I'm  perplexed  more  yet  with  the 
thought  that  a  holy  and  sovereign  Being  disposes  the 
events  which  are  daily  occurring.  Think  what  these 
events  are  ;  think  of  the  bloodshed,  the  pain  and  suf- 
fering caused  by  this  war,  and  reconcile  yourself  as 
well  as  you  can  to  the  doctrine,  that  a  holy  God  doeth 
all  things  well.  For  my  part,  I  can't  do  it  at  all ;  I 
don't  see  the  reasonableness  of  such  a  belief." 

".  Were  it  not  for  my  faith  in  a  sovereign,  wonder- 
working God,  I  should  be  wretched  indeed,"  responded 
Mrs.  Granger. 

"  And  so  should  I,"  said  her  daughter,  with  deep 
feeling. 

Minnie  was  a  lovely  girl.     We  have  said  this  in  sub- 
stance before,  and  our  readers  learned  something  of 
her  character  at  the  time  Charles  Abbott  and  Frederic 
25 


290  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

Sedgwick  were  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  war.  It 
was  this  same  Minnie,  who  strove  to  persuade  Bessie 
Jenkins  to  be  reconciled  to  the  departure  of  her  lover. 

Minnie  had  never  wearied  in  her  efforts  to  convince 
Bessie  that  she  was  doing  herself  an  injury  by  cherish- 
ing the  selfish  feelings  she  manifested  on  the  occasion 
alluded  to,  and  it  really  rejoiced  her  noble  young  heart 
to  find  that  Bessie  submitted  quietly  to  the  trial  of  part- 
ing, when,  at  length,  Raymond  was  enabled  to  break 
the  spell  of  enchantment  by  which  he  had  been  held 
from  duty,  and  depart,  leaving  Bessie  for  an  indefinite 
period.  She  was  aware  of  the  fact  that  a  cloud  had 
enveloped  this  impulsive  girl  recently,  for  a  season, 
though  she  did  not  fully  understand  the  nature  of  the 
vapor  with  which  this  cloud  was  surcharged  ;  yet  she 
had  not  the  remotest  idea  that  Aunt  Amey  was  ac- 
quainted wifli  the  history  of  Bessie  during  the  years 
she  had  been  at  the  West,  and  was  surprised,  there- 
fore, when  the  old  lady  inquired,  how  Bessie  Jenkins 
got  along  with  her  sulks. 

"  I've  heard  about  her  jealous  fever,  and  I  want  to 
whip  her,  and  shut  her  up  in  a  dark  closet. " 

"  Why,  Aunt  Amey,  who  could  have  told  you  about 
Bessie  ?  "  exclaimed  Minnie. 

"  0,  I  heard  about  her  hateful  actions,  while  I  was 
at  the  West.  She  does  n't  deserve  the  good  will  of 
that  young  Philips,  and  I  would  break  up  this  antici- 
pated match,  if  I  could  ;  for  I  hate  to  see  a  man,  or 
woman  either,  jump  right  into  a  fire  that  must  burn 
forever." 

"Don't  say  so,  auntie;  everybody  can  overcome 
what  is  wrong  in  their  temper,  and  I  trust  Bessie  will 
overcome  all    her   naughty  feelings.     Think   what  a 


BES8IE    AM)    RAYMOND.  "2lJl 

bright  crown  she  will  wear  in  heaven,  if  she  is  enabled 
to  conquer  all  her  wicked  feelings." 

"Talk  about  her  conquering  anything  ;  she  's  noth- 
ing but  a  great  simple  bunch  of  nerves  and  selfishness  ; 
she  '11  never  be  any  different,  unless  she  goes  away 
from  this  world,  and  comes  back  again  after  a  while. 
But  it  is  not  probable  that  she  will  do  any  such  thing 
as  that,  and  so  I  see  no  help  for  her." 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation  took  place,  Aunt 
Amey  proposed  making  Mrs.  Jenkins  a  visit.  Mrs. 
Granger  offered  to  send  word  to  this  lady,  that  Aunt 
Amey  would  spend  a  day  with  her,  soon. 

"  Shall  I  send  word,  auntie,  that  she  may  expect 
you  to-morrow  ?  "  asked  that  lady. 

"  No,  it 's  not  necessary  to  let  her  know  beforehand 
that  I'm  coming.  I  wish  to  see  Bessie  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  family  ;  but,  if  I  apprise  them  of  my  coming, 
a  part  of  the  household  will  be  '  skedadling,'  as  they 
say,  nowadays.  No,  I'll  just  go  and  surprise  them 
with  my  presence." 

Mrs.  Granger  turned  from  the  old  lady  to  hide  a 
smile,  wondering  mean  time,  how  it  was  possible  for 
Aunt  Amey,  or  any  other  person,  to  take  pleasure 
in  visiting  a  family  under  the  circumstances  she  had 
stated. 


292  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

"  How  wondrous  are  God's  secret  ways ;  — 
The  chasteniug  furnace  of  affliction, 
Taught  tliis  young  maiden's  heart  to  praise 
Her  Lord  in  streams  of  benediction !" 

E.  L.  Night  Watches. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  Aunt  Arney 
arrayed  herself  for  a  walk,  and  having  bespoke  the  at- 
tendance of  Minnie,  started  on  her  errand  of  curiosity ; 
for  it  must  have  been  her  desire  to  be  acquainted  with 
the  affairs  of  all  mankind,  as  far  as  possible,  that  in- 
duced her  to  visit  persons  whom  she  was  fearful  would 
leave  their  homes  if  they  expected  her  to  appear  in  it. 
Many  things  went  wrong  with  Aunt  Amey,  while  she 
was  on  the  way  to  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

There  had  not  been  any  rain  for  some  little  time, 
and  the  road  was  dusty,  therefore  she  blamed  every 
man  who  drove  a  team  along  the  road,  and  thought  if 
Oak  Dale  was  a  country  village,  the  people  might  be 
enterprising  enough  to  have  the  streets  watered,  so 
as  not  to  have  folks  who  walked  through  the  little 
mean  place,  covered  with  dust.  No  one  thing  beneath 
the  sun,  was  ever  made  to  suit  Miss  Benson's  taste, 
exactly.  The  road  was  always  either  too  rough,  too 
smooth,  or  too  sandy ;  and,  worse  than  all,  it  would 
be  wet  sometimes  when  the  clouds  poured  out  showers. 

Minnie  knew  her  great  aunt  very  well ;  she  had 
spont  months  together  beneath  the  same  roof  that  had 
sheltered  the  old  lady,  almost  every  year  since  her  re- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  293 

membrancc,  and  she  would  gladly  have  loved  this  rel- 
ative dearly,  if  she  could  have  been  allowed  to,  but 
Aunt  Amey  did  n't  care  a  groat  for  love  ;  she  liked  to 
fidget,  and  make  herself  and  all  around  her  uncomfort- 
able. As  she  drew  near  the  house  of  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
on  that  morning,  Minnie  saw  Bessie  look  out  of  a 
chamber  window  for  a  very  few  moments,  and  then 
move  hurriedly  away.  The  young  lady  resolved  not 
to  speak  of  what  she  had  seen,  but,  scarcely  had  she 
done  so,  ere  Aunt  i\.mey  exclaimed,  "I  told  you  so  ; 
I  knew  they  'd  scatter  if  they  found  I  was  coming. 
But  Bes  was  n't  quite  quick  enough  ;  I  saw  her,  and 
now  she  '11  have  to  see  me." 

"  I  should  n't  think  you  would  like  to  go  where  you 
suppose  some  of  the  family  dislike  you,  auntie." 

"  Pho  !  what  do  I  care  for  such  little  upstarts  as 
Bessie." 

While  thus  speaking,  she  opened  the  door  and 
walked  herself  into  the  sitting-room  of  the  astonished 
Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  Why  Miss  Benson,  you  are  a  great  stranger  ; 
when  did  you  arrive  ?  I  suppose  you  came  from  the 
West." 

This  was  the  salutation  of  the  lady,  who,  not  having 
heard  of  the  arrival  of  Aunt  Amey,  was  quite  taken 
by  surprise  at  her  sudden  appearance. 

"  I  didn't  come  from  the  West  this  morning." 

"  So  I  perceive,  by  the  company  you  come  with." 

Minnie  had  been  kindly  greeted  by  her  friend,  as 
she  stood  in  the  hall  after  the  ingress  of  Aunt  Amey 
into  the  room,  where  the  old  lady  was  soon  comforta- 
bly ensconced  in  a  rocking-chair,  and  feeling  relieved ; 
25* 


294  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND 

Minnie,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Jenkins,  proceeded 
to  the  chamber  of  Bessie. 

"I've  come  to  spend  the  day  with  you,  though  I 
don't  suppose  you  are  extra  glad  to  see  me/'  said 
Aunt  Amey  ;  then  added  in  a  deprecating  tone,  "  no- 
body cares  for  me." 

"I  am  sure  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so 
well,"  answered  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  Looking  so  well,  indeed  ;  why,  there  's  nothing  of 
me.  I'm  worried  to  death  all  the  time,  with  the  plaguy 
actions  at  the  seat  of  war.  I'd  manage  affairs,  if  I 
could  go  out  there  and  have  control." 

"  Pity  you  could  n't  go,  Aunt  Amey,"  said  Albert, 
who  just  then  entered  the  room,  and  offered  Miss  Ben- 
son his  hand.  "How  do  you  do,  Miss  Benson?" 
said  he,  hoping  to  atone  for  the  slip  of  the  tongue, 
which  had  caused  him  to  say  "  Aunt  Amey,"  by  being 
very  polite  to  his  mother's  visitor. 

"  I'm  as  well  as  I  can  ever  expect  to  be  ;  but  I'm 
not  Aunt  Amey  to  you,  my  lad." 

"0,  do  excuse  me,  Miss  Benson,  for  that  slip  of 
the  tongue,  just  once." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  excused  for  calling  me  so,  be- 
hind my  back  ?  ' ' 

"  0,  no,  ma'am  ;  only  for  this  once." 

"Then  the  other  times,  you  don't  care  for;  it's 
only  beeause  I  happened  to  hear  you  taking  such  a 
liberty  with  a  person  old  enough  to  be  your  grand- 
mother." 

"  I  would  not  speak  disrespectfully  of  you,"  began 
Albert. 

"  Hush  !  I  know  very  well  all  about  it,  and  I  sup- 
pose it 's  no  matter,  being  it's  me  who  's  treated  so." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  295 

"  Well,  please  shake  hands  with  me,  Miss  Benson, 
and  then  I  '11  try  and  not  do  anything  to  hurt  your 
feelings  again." 

Aunt  Amey  allowed  Albert  to  shake  hands  with  her, 
and  he  then  ran  off,  glad  to  get  away  without  a  long 
lecture  from  the  woman  who  had  often  provoked  his 
risibility  in  days  past. 

Minnie  persuaded  Bessie  to  break  a  resolution  she 
had  hastily  formed,  to  keep  out  of  sight  while  the  dis- 
agreeable visitor  was  in  the  house. 

11  You  have  been  seen  by  her,"  said  Minnie,  "  and 
you  must  go  down  stairs  to  please  me.  I  want  to  see 
your  cousin  Clara,  very  much  indeed.  In  short,  I 
want  to  see  as  many  of  the  household  together  as  I 
can  while  auntie  is  present.  Remember,  age  is  entitled 
to  deference." 

"  Not  hateful  old  age  ;  but  I  can  go  down,  and  be 
bored  to  death  by  the  woman  I  hate  worse  than  all 
the  world  beside." 

"  Come,  Bessie  ;  try  and  look  better  feelings,"  said 
her  young  friend. 

"  I  don't  care  to,"  was  the  brief  response  of  Bessie, 
as  she  entered  the  room  where  the  visitor  sat,  with 
the  pleasant  family  circle  of  Mrs.  Jenkins,  which  had 
gathered  to  entertain  the  guest. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Bessie  ?  "  was  the  rather 
stiff  salutation  of  Miss  Benson,  as  Bessie  approached 
her,  and  without  waiting  for  the  young  lady  to  reply, 
she  continued,  "  you  look  just  as  if  you  'd  been  worry- 
ing yourself  to  no  purpose  ;  just  as  you  do  about  Ray- 
mond. But  I  can  tell  you  it's  wrong  for  you  to  be 
jealous  of  a  young  lady,  who  is  attached  to  another 
young  gentleman,  and  has  been  for  years." 


296  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"  You  mystify  the  company,  auntie,"  remarked 
Minnie,  who  found  it  difficult  to  keep  her  countenance 
from  betraying  the  amusement  she  felt. 

"Do  I  ?  well,  I  can't  help  it.  I  am  mystified  my- 
self, with  some  things." 

•Now  Aunt  Amey  had  a  way  with  her,  that  was  not 
pleasant  to  any  one ;  but  it  was  intolerable  to  young 
people  ;  a  certain  mysterious  air,  which  is  indefinable, 
save  that  she  would  toss  her  head  in  such  a  peculiar 
mode,  that  no  one  was  able  to  tell  just  how  she  did  it. 

Minnie  knew  that  Bessie  was  both  vexed  and  inter- 
ested by  what  this  lady  had  just  said,  for  she  had  ob- 
served her  closely,  while  Aunt  Amey  was  talking,  and 
saw  that  Bessie  looked  at  her  attentively,  while  she 
was  speaking,  with  an  expression  of  countenance  that 
seemed  to  desire  her  to  say  more.  Mrs.  Jenkins  too, 
was  interested,  for  she  knew  that  Aunt  Amey  was  a 
great  newsgatherer,  and  she  recollected  the  words 
which  had  fallen  so  unconsciously  from  the  lips  of 
Clara  when  the  name  of  George  Ashley  had  been  men- 
tioned in  her  hearing,  and  therefore  she  remarked  to 
Aunt  Amey,  "so,  Miss  Benson,  you  intend  we  shall 
infer  that  our  Clara  has  a  beau." 

"I  didn't  say  anything  about  Clara;  I  was  speak- 
ing of  a  young  lady  of  whom  I  heard  that  Bessie  was 
jealous.  I  didn't  say  what  young  lady  I  heard  she 
was  jealous  of,"  replied  Aunt  Amey. 

"  But  you  will  tell  us,  will  you  not  ?  "  asked  Mrs 
Jenkins,   "provided  you  know,"   added  she  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Perhaps  you  doubt  my  word ;  but  it 's  only  me, 
and  so  no  matter,"  answered  Miss  Benson,  a  little 
piqued  at  the  idea  that  there  existed  the  possibility  of 
a  doubt  in  regard  to  the  truth  of  what  she  stated. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  297 

f*  No,  Miss  Benson  ;  I  only  think  it  is  possible  you 
may  have  been  misinformed  in  regard  to  the  subject 
before  us." 

'.'  That 's  all  you  know  about  it ;  but  I  know  the 
whole,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  that  significant,  yet 
unbecoming  toss  of  the  head,  before  alluded  tr>. 

"  I  suppose  she  must  have  told  you  something  about 
it,  before  now,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  addressing  Minnie ; 
but,  before  that  young  lady  could  reply,  Aunt  Amey 
spoke  in  a  hurried,  sharp  manner,  which  people  de- 
clared was  natural  to  her,  —  saying,  "of  course  she 
don't  know  anything  about  it ;  how  could  she,  when 
nobody  in  these  parts  understand  how  things  are,  but 
me,  except  one  of  the  parties  concerned.  I  have  n't 
told  a  soul,  because  I  wanted  to  see,  and  tell  Bessie 
myself.  I  don'j;  like  the  girl,  if  I  do  like  her  mother. 
I  always  said  she  'd  bea  spoiled  child,  and  I  guess 
her  mother  is  forced  to  think  sometimes  now,  of  what 
I  used  to  say  to  her,  when  she  was  letting  Bessie  have 
her  own  way.  I  knew  she  was  making  herself  trouble, 
but  as  folks  will  make  their  beds,  they  generally  have 
to  lie  in  them." 

Mrs.  Murray  was  very  uneasy  while  listening  to  this 
speech  ;  she  saw  that  her  sister  was  far  from  pleased 
with  it,  though  she  felt  that  a  part  of  it,  at  least, 
might  be  true  ;  therefore  she  moved  her  chair  very 
near  to  Aunt  Amey,  and  seating  herself,  with  her  knit- 
ting work  in  her  hands,  said  pleasantly,  :'I  am  intei- 
ested  in  this  affair,  for  I  am  acquainted  with  a  young 
gentleman,  whose  name  is  George  Ashley,  so  you  will 
allow  me  to  ask  some  questions  about  the  individual 
you  know  by  that  name." 

"I  don't  know  this  young  man,  only  by  hearing 
others  speak  of  him.     A  friend  of  mine,  who  lives  at 


298  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

the  West,  is  a  relative  of  George  Ashley's  mother, 
and  she  corresponded  with  an  aunt  of  his,  who  gave 
her  an  account  of  some  things  that  have  occurred, 
overheard  her  talking  with  her  husband  about  the 
dark  fortunes  of  young  Ashley,  one  day,  so  I  told  her 
I  ?d  just  heard  enough,  to  make  me  want  to  know 
more  ;  then  she  told  me  the  whole  story.  It  may  be 
told  in  a  few  words,  so  I  '11  tell  what  I  know,  without 
calling  names,  and  then  nobody  can  accuse  me  of 
being  personal." 

No  other  person  could  be  so  utterly  regardless  of 
hurting  the  feelings  of  their  fellow-beings,  as  was 
this  woman.  She  appeared  to  take  advantage  of  the 
fact  that  she  had  lived  upwards  of  threescore  years, 
and  had  been  called  to  suffer  bereavement  in  the  death 
of  all  the  very  near  relatives  she  evQj"  had  had.  A 
nephew,  who  had  always  compassionated  her  lonely 
condition,  had  died  soon  after  this  war  commenced. 
He  had  held  some  office  in  the  commissary  department 
of  the  army,  and  had  been  in  the  habit  of  remitting 
money  to  Aunt  Amey,  until  his  death.  Deprived  sud- 
denly of  the  sum  he  had  given  her,  her  means  were 
rather  limited,  therefore  she  felt,  ever  after  her  nephew 
died,  that  all  mankind  were  under  obligations  to  con- 
tribute to  her  means  of  support. 

If  the  old  lady  had  ever  tried  to  conceal  this  feel- 
ing, she  had  been  very  unsuccessful,  for  it  was  made 
manifest,  in  her  actions,  every  day.  She  had  not  been 
in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Jenkins  two  hours,  on  the  day 
of  that  visit,  before  her  character  was  understood  by 
all  who  were  in  it.  All  the  ladies  were  interested  in 
hearing  how  Aunt  Amey  would  tell  her  short  story, 
and  yet  they  dreaded  to  know  what  it  was. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  299 

"  All  I  have  to  tell,"  began  the  old  lady,  "is,  that 
once  upon  a  time,  a  soldier  picked  up  a  letter 
which  had  been  dropped  accidentally  by  a  young  Lieu- 
tenant, belonging  to  a  Massachusetts  Regiment.  The 
letter  had  been  opened  and  read,  before  it  had  been 
lost,  and  the  man  who  picked  it  up,  looked  at  the  in- 
side, to  ascertain  the  owner's  name,  if  possible,  as  the 
envelope  was  so  covered  with  mud,  the  writing 
was  unreadable.  He  at  once  discovered  that  the 
first  name  of  the  person  to  whom  the  letter  belonged, 
was  Raymond  ;  then  curiosity  prompted  him  to  read 
farther,  and  the  spirit  of  the  letter  so  surprised  him, 
that  he  read  it  to  the  end.  lie  perceived  that  a  young 
lady,  whom  he  had  ever  had  reason  to  respect,  was  re- 
ferred to  in  the  letter,  and  this  surprised  him  greatly, 
for  she  was  named  as  a  rival  of  the  writer.  Bessie  may 
try  and  guess, 

"  The  contents  of  this  letter  so  troubled  the  mind  of 
the  man,  that  he  copied  it  and  sent  it  to  his  mother.  She 
let  me  read  it,  and  such  an  abusive  missive  is  n't  often 
seen  as  that  was.  We  knew  the  writer's  name,  for  she 
signed  it  in  full  ;  and  as  I  thought  it  might  do  her 
good  to  see  a  copy  of  it,  I  got  one  of  the  young  ladies 
I  knew  to  copy  it  for  me,  so  that  I  could  have  it  to 
bring  to  Massachusetts  with  me.  Here  it  is,"  said 
Miss  Benson,  putting  her  hand  in  her  pocket ;  as  she 
did  so,  Bessie  arose,  and  almost  flew  from  the  room. 

"  You  needn't  run  so,  Bessie,"  called  the  old  lady, 
but  Bessie  was  determined  not  to  hear  her  call. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Aunt  Amey,  "  I  >H  read  it  to 
the  rest  of  you.  Here  it  is,"  said  she,  as  she  suc- 
ceeded in  her  attempt  to  extricate  it  from  the  depths 
of  not  an  easily-fathomed  pocket.  "It  is  n't  a  long 
letter,  and  so  it  '11  soon  be  heard." 


300  BESSIE    AND   EAYMOND. 

"  My  once  dear  Friend  Raymond  :  — 

"  I  never  expected  to  come  to  this ;  to  be  obliged  to 
feel  that  some  other  woman  has  taken  the  place  in 
yonr  heart  which  I  once  thought  I  occupied.  You 
speak,  too,  in  your  letters  to  me,  of  my  rival,  and 
imagine  that  because  she  is  my  cousin,  I  shall  be  blind 
in  regard  to  your  feelings  towards  her.  You  don't 
know  me,  if  you  think  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  bear  your 
mentioning  the  name  of  Clara  Murray  in  your  letters, 
every  time  you  write,  with  so  much  interest.  I  don't 
intend  to  bear  such  treatment ;  you  need  not  try 
again  to  make  me  think  that  you  care  more  for  me 
than  any  other  woman,  since  you  have  said  so  much 
about  Clara  Murray.  I  thought,  when  you  first  al- 
luded to  her,  that  I  should  like  to  know  her  ;  but  I 
soon  saw  through  your  disinterested,  patriotic,  gen- 
tlemanly efforts  to  do  all  you  could  for  her  mother,  for 
her  sake.  And  now,  I  don't  care  if  I  don't  see  you 
ever  again  ;  and  less  than  that  do  I  care  for  her. 

"  So  no  more  from  —  " 

"I  will  not  say  who;  "  and  Miss  Benson  did  not 
need  to  read  the  name  of  the  writer  of  this  shameful 
missive,  for  her  grandmother  and  mother  knew  full 
well,  and  Mrs.  Murray  suspected  very  strongly, 
while  Minnie  and  Clara  thought  it  must  have  been 
written  by  Bessie. 

Minnie  felt  inclined  to  ridicule  the  production,  but 
Clara  was  differently  affected,  She  had  listened  to  it 
with  mingled  emotions ;  she  was  pained  that  her 
cousin  could  have  written  such  a  production,  but  glad 
that  her  having  been  obliged  to  hear  it  read,  had 
opened  a  way  for  her  to  converse  with  Bessie  upon  a 
subject  she  had  long  wished  to  introduce. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  301 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

"  Oh,  there 's  a  grief,  so  with  the  thread  of  being 
Ravelled  and  twined,  it  sickens  every  sense." 

"  The  sorrow  of  the  world  worketh  death." 

Like  all  other  days  that  have  thus  far  dawned  upon 
this  world,  the  day  on  which  Miss  Benson  visited 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  came  to  an  end.  The  sinking  of  the 
sun  when  it  began  to  set,  on  the  evening  of  that  day, 
was  a  joyful  sight  to  all  the  members  of  that  house- 
hold, for  the  visit  of  Aunt  Amey  was  almost  over 
then,  and  when  the  curtains  of  night  were  closely 
drawn  over  the  light,  and  the  old  lady  took  her  leave 
of  the  patient  little  circle,  and  withdrew,  a  feeling  of 
relief  was  felt  by  the  whole  family. 

"  The  thing  is  over  with  ;  are  n't  you  glad,  mother, 
that  she  will  not  bore  us  again  this  year  ?  "  said  Al- 
bert, as  soon  as  Aunt  Amey  had  gone. 

"  I  wish  Miss  Benson  was  a  little  different,"  said 
his  mother  in  reply,  "that  we  could  love  to  have  her 
stay  longer  when  she  visits  us." 

"She  is  an  intelligent  woman,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Murray,  "but  has  failed  in  overcoming  what  is  wrong 
in  her  character.  I  suppose  she  must  have  indulged 
unhappy  feelings  in  her  youth,  so  that  now  this 
unpleasant,  sharp,  unfeeling  manner  that  character- 
izes all  she  says  and  does,  is  a  kind  of  second  nature 
to  her.  I  cannot  imagine  that  she  is  aware  how  often 
she  gives  pain,  when  conversing.     How  often  devil, 


302  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

that  strange  word  for  a  lady  to  speak,  escapes  her 
lips.  I  pity  her,  because  she  has  not  controlled  her- 
self more  when  she  could  have  done  so." 

"  When  do  you  think  she  could  have  made  herself  a 
more  agreeable  person,  aunt  Clara  ?  "  asked  Albert. 

"  When  all  was  new,  and  life  was  in  its  spring," 
responded  Mrs.  Murray,  in  the  language  of  H.  K. 
White. 

"  I  wish  our  Bessie  would  begin  in  a  hurry  to  over- 
come her  evil  moods,  if  she  is  now  growing  into  a 
character  like  that  old  fudge,  who  has  been  here  to- 
day," said  Albert. 

"  Don't  speak  so  disrespectfully  of  a  person  as  old 
as  Miss  Benson  again,  my  son." 

"  How  can  a  person  expect  to  be  spoken  of  re- 
spectfully, when  their  deportment  is  such,  all  the  time, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  a  fellow  to  feel  any  respect  for 
them." 

"  You  should  respect  yourself  too,  not  to  do  what  is 
wrong  because  others  do." 

"  I'll  try  and  remember,  when  aunt,  I  mean  when  Miss 
Benson  comes  again,"  said  Albert,  as  he  went  out." 

Mrs.  Clement  had  not  enjoyed  the  visit  of  Aunt 
Amey  more  than  the  other  members  of  the  household, 
yet  she  was  glad  she  came  there  with  her  disagreeable 
queer  ways,  because  she  hoped  Bessie  would  see  her- 
self in  the  mirror  held  before  her  by  Miss  Benson. 
She  hoped,  too,  that  what  Aunt  Amey  had  said  to  her 
grand-daughter,  would  not  be  lost  upon  her  ;  Bessie's 
knowledge,  too,  of  the  fact  that  the  old  lady  was  in  pos- 
session of  a  copy  of  the  letter  she  had  in  her  anger  ad- 
dressed to  Raymond,  would,  her  grandmother  thought, 
do  her  good.      She  felt  convinced  that  she  was  not 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  303 

wrong  in  thus  thinking,  when  Bessie  entered  the  room 
where  the  family  were  assembled  about  an  hour  after 
Miss  Benson  had  taken  leave  of  them,  with  a  more 
cheerful  face  than  she  had  worn  for  a  long  time.  She 
had  not  been  there  long,  ere  she  asked  the  very  ques- 
tion aloud  which  some  of  her  friends  had  asked  men- 
tally, many  times  during  Aunt  Amey's  stay.  It  was 
asked  by  Bessie,  earnestly  — 

"  Shall  I  ever  become,  if  I  live  to  be  as  old,  as  dis- 
agreeable a  woman  as  Aunt  Amey  ?  " 

A  smile  went  around  the  whole  circle,  as  this  ques- 
tion was  asked. 

"  It  depends  upon  yourself,"  said  her  mother, 
"  my  dear  Bessie,  whether  you  will  be  or  not.  No  one 
can  answer  this  question  for  you.  Much  as  we  wish  to 
have  you  unlike  her,  we  fear  for  you,  in  regard  to  your 
prospects  in  after  years,  if  you  do  not  cherish  friendly, 
cheerful  feelings,  now  that  you  are  young." 

"  But  Aunt  Amey  looks  with  suspicion  upon  every 
one,"  said  Bessie.  "  I  don't  believe  she  reaily  feels  that 
she  is  loved  by  any  one  ;  I  hope  I  shall  not  feel  so 
when  I  am  old." 

"Then  don't  allow  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Clement, 
"  to  feel  so  now.  It  is  much  better  to  be  sometimes 
imposed  upon,  than  never  to  trust.  We  make  people 
our  enemies  often,  when  they  would  gladly  be  our 
friends,  by  being  suspicious  of  them.  I  would  not  en- 
tertain distrust  in  my  heart,  at  all,  unless  I  was  forced 
to.  I  think  it  will  be  well  to  remember  Miss  Benson, 
when  we  are  tempted  to  feel  distrustful,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  n  for  if  habitually  cherished,  distrust  has 
made  her  what  she  is  ;  thoughts  of  her  unhappiness 
may  do  us  good.     I  pity  that  young  lady  who  was  so 


304  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND . 

patient  towards  her,  for  Miss  Benson  informed  me, 
that  she  was  intending  to  make  that  young  friend's 
mother  a  long  visit/' 

"  You  need  not  pity  her  mother  ;  she  is  one  of  the 
most  cheerful  beings  I  ever  saw,  and  she  has  very 
dear  friends  at  the  war  too,"  said  Clara. 

"That  is  always  her  way,"  remarked  Bessie;  "I 
don't  believe  anything  could  make  her  sad  very  long ; 
she  is  always  making  amusing  remarks,  which  make 
others  laugh.  I  don't  understand  how  she  can  feel  so 
light-hearted,  in  such  a  gloomy  world  as  this." 

'/  Don't  let  that  part  of  the  world  be  gloomy,  which 
you  inhabit,  cousin  Bessie,"  said  Clara,  "for  I  want 
you  to  laugh  with  me  ;  I  like  to  be  cheerful,  and  have 
cheerful  people  about  me." 

"  0,  I'm  not  constituted  like  you  and  Minnie  Gran- 
ger ;  I  wish  I  was." 

P  No  matter  how  you  are  constituted  ;  you  can  pur- 
pose to  do  a  right  thing,  and  then  do  it.  You  can 
say  depart !  to  gloomy  feelings,  and  they  will  not  be 
so  very  impolite  as  to  tarry,  when  you  wish  them 
gone." 

"  But  I  have  one  great  grief,  Clara,  that  is  sapping 
my  young  life  away."  This  was  said  by  Bessie  in  a 
low  tone.  As  she  drew  near  her  cousin,  she  added,  in 
an  almost  whisper  ;  "I  will  tell  you  of  my  troubles, 
sometime." 

"  Then  we  '11  be  friends,"  said  Clara,  "  and  I  '11  tell 
you  my  story,  for  I've  had  an  experience,  as  well  as 
yourself." 

These  few  words,  softly  spoken,  laid  the  foundation 
of  a  friendship  between  the^Jwo  cousins,  which  was 
pure  and  lasting.     It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  untiring 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  305 

patience  of  Clara,  towards  Bessie's  faults;  she  re- 
garded her  as  a  spoiled  and  petted  child,  and  she  had 
felt  anxious,  since  the  first  time  she  beheld  her,  to 
assist  her  to  mend  her  ways.  Surely,  it  is  worth  the 
work  of  a  lifetime,  to  win  one  soul  to  Jesus,  thought 

this  good  girl.  . 

»  An-els  rejoice  in  heaveu,  over  one  erring  oue  who 
repents"  aud  it  will  be  glorious  work  if  Bessie  will 
only  allow  me  to  wrist  her  to  drive  the  demou  of 
iealousy  from  her  heart." 

But  this  evil  spirit  of  jealousy  did  uot  come  unat- 
tended into  the  breast  of  Bessie.     It  seldom,  if  ever, 
goes  alone  ;  what  the  poet  Young  says  of  woe,  is  true 
of  this  monster.     «  It  loves  a  train,"  for  it  is  impos- 
sible for  it  to  dwell  in  the  heart  of  any  being,  unless  it 
is  preceded  and  encouraged  by  other  sins;  sins  of 
omission,  it  maybe,  sometimes  help  to  foster  ,t.    Clara 
felt  that  this  might  be  true  in  Bessie  s  case.     It  was 
true  of  Bessie,  that  she  was  sometimes  very  zealous 
in  a  good  cause,  but  her  zeal  would  soon  grow  cold, 
because  it  was  not  kept  glowing  by  generous  princi- 
ple     Benevolent  impulses  are  beautiful  m  their  effect 
oftentimes;  we  would  not  undervalue  them,  but  would 
have  every  good  impulse  strengthened,  until  it  be- 
comes  a  principle   of   character.      AH  we   contend 
against,  is  the  habit  many  people  indulge,  of  being  led 
by  impulse.  T, 

-1  '11  do  so,  if  I  feel  like  it,"  says  one.    "I  know  I  m 
not    doing  right,  but  I  must  act   as  I  feel,"    says 

another.  , ' 

-I  knew  one  person,"  said  Mrs.  Clement  on  that 
evening  after  Aunt  Amey  visited  Mrs.  Jenkins,  -who 
was  governed  by  feeling,  who  seldom  performed  an 

2G* 


306  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

act  of  charity,  unless  he  yielded  to  some  sudden  im- 
pulse." "I  have/'  she  said,  "known  his  wife  to  put 
herself  to  much  inconvenience  in  order  to  dispose  of  a 
few  dollars,  that  had  been  given  to  her  by  her  hus- 
band, before  he  should  take  them  back,  when  his 
kindly  feeling  had  passed  away.  He  had  changed  his 
purposes  so  many  times,  in  regard  to  bestowing  a 
small  sum  on  charitable  objects,  that  his  benevolent 
wife  was  fain  to  place  money  given  thus  impulsively, 
immediately  beyond  his  reach.  I  have  watched  the 
conduct  of  this  man  for  years  ;  he  has  followed  impul- 
sively, for  a  short  period,  a  great  variety  of  vocations. 
He  liked  each  one  at  the  onset,  and  was  sure  of  get- 
ting rich,  by  pursuing  it ;  but  0,  he  would  soon 
change,  and  then  another  impulse  would  govern  him 
for  a  time. 

"  Soon  after  the  war  commenced,  he  was  led  by  a 
strong  impulse  to  join  the  army,  and  he  did  become  a 
soldier,  and  went  forth,  taking  with  him  the  good 
wishes  of  many.  '  Now/  thought  his  friends,  '  Mr. 
Jones  will  be  suited  with  his  occupation,  because,  it  is 
exciting,  and  he  will  serve  contentedly,  during  the 
term  of  his  enlistment/  But  lo,  how  unwisely  they 
judged  ;  he  did  not  stay  until  half  the  three  years,  for 
which  he  enlisted,  had  expired.  Becoming  very  un- 
happy, he  found  out,  all  on  a  sudden,  that  he  was  unfit 
for  Government  service.  His  health  was  good,  very 
good,  —  he  boasted  often  that  it  was  excellent ;  still, 
he  contrived  after  much  manoeuvring  to  get  discharged 
and  return  home.  Since  that  time  he  has  continued 
his  favorite  course,  and  I  fear  he  will  go  through  life 
acting  in  the  same  unstable  manner.  It  is  not  safe  to 
be  guided  by  our  inclinations,  without  a  higher  stand- 
ard of  action ." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


307 


"  I  wish  I  could  be  different,"  said  Bessie  to  Clara, 
after  the  two  cousins  had  retired  to  their  chamber 
that  right.  "  I  know,  very  well,  they  all  mean  me, 
when  they  make  their  remarks,  and  tell  their  stories 
about  impulsive  people.  I  wish  I  could  be  different, 
so  as  not  to  be  the  butt  of  all  the  household  ;  even  my 
young  brothers  treat  me  with  contempt." 

«  Not  you,  cousin  Bessie  ;  I  am  sure  your  brothers- 
love  you,  but  some  of  your  moods  they  do  not  like, 

neither  do  I." 

Here  Clara  paused,  fearing  she  had  gone  too  far, 
and  both  Bessie  and  herself  were  silent  for  a  time. 

"  We  will  be  the  best  of  friends  to  each  other," 
said  Clara,  at  length.  <<  At  least,  I  hope  so  ;  I  hope 
we  may  be  faithful  friends  and  tell  each  other  our 
faults.  Will  you  be  such  a  friend  to  me,  Bessie, 
while  we  are  near  each  other?  " 

"I  am  afraid  to  promise  ;  I  can't  never  do  any- 
thing I  wish  to." 

-You  must  not  feel  so,  Bessie,"  was  the  kind  re- 
ply of  Clara,  while  she  put  her  arms  lovingly  about 
the  neck  of  her  cousin.  "  You  must  let  me  love  you 
and  help  you  to  get  above  some  of  your  miserable 
feelings.  I've  been  thinking  we  can  be  very  happy 
together  if  we  are  not  afraid  of  each  other." 

<<  But  this  one  great  trial  of  mine,  you  do  not  know, 
and  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you  what  it  is." 

«  Supposing  I  tell  you  that  I  have  an  idea  that  you 

have  hurt  the  feelings  of  a  young  man,  who  is  your 

best  friend,  by  writing  a  letter  to  him  when  you  were 

in  a  bad  humor  ;  what  would  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  would  ask  what  you  think  about  it  ?  " 

-Then  I  would  say  you  ought  to  feel  sorry  that 


308  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

you  had  done  wrong  ;  but  instead  of  sitting  down  to 
think  about  what  you  have  done,  you  should  do  all  in 
your  power  to  make  restitution  for  the  wrong,  while 
you  ask  help  of  your  heavenly  Father  to  save  you 
from  a  repetition  of  the  offence. " 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  that  hateful 
letter  ;  I  wish  I  had  not  written  it." 

"  Still,  it  is  true  that  you  did  write  it,  and  it  appears 
that  it  has  travelled  a  long  way  towards  the  setting 
sun.  It  is  amusing  to  think  of  the  manner  in  which 
that  letter  came  back  to  your  home,  Bessie.  I  be- 
lieve its  appearance  here  was  to  do  good  to  the 
writer  of  it ;  no  accident  brought  it,  for  all  things  are 
controlled  by  Omnipotence. " 

11  But  to  think  of  Miss  Benson's  bringing  it  here  ; 
the  woman  I  dislike  most  of  any  being  in  the  world. 
This  is  terribly  mortifying." 

"Let  this  mortification  be  the  means  of  making 
you  wiser,  Bessie." 

"  I  hope  it  will  teach  me  wisdom,  and  teach  me  also 
that  it  is  best  to  wait  long  enough  to  find  out  the 
truth  in  regard  to  what  I  suspect,  before  I  settle  in  my 
mind,  as  a  fact,  what  I  only  fear  may  be  one." 

"  It  is  strange,  cousin,  that  you  could  have  thought 
of  me  as  a  rival." 

"It  does  n't  seem  strange  to  me;  I  only  wonder 
that  you  did  n't  supplant  me  in  Eaymond's  affections 
from  the  first  moment  of  your  acquaintance  ;  you  are 
so  much  more  lovable  than  I  am,  or  ever  can  be." 

"  0  fie,  don't  entertain  such  a  foolish  thought  one  mo- 
ment. God  has  given  you  great  capacity  for  happiness 
as  well  as  for  misery.  It  is  for  you  to  choose  whether 
you  will   cast  a  gloomy  shadow  wherever  you  go,  or 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  309 

whether  you  will  be  happy  yourself  and  make  others 
so.  It  is  of  no  use,  dear  Bessie,  to  talk  about  con- 
stitutional infirmities,  when  we  have  the  word  of  God, 
that  His  grace  is  sufficient  for  us  in  every  emergency." 

"  But  you  forget,  Clara,  that  I  don't  profess  to  be  a 
Christian,  and  the  promises  in  the  Bible  are  made  to' 
Christians." 

"  I  did  n't  forget,  cousin,  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  not  be  a  Christian  to-day.  Every  creature 
that  God  has  made  is  commanded  to  love  Him,  and 
also  all  mankind.  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  excuse  for 
the  neglect  of  this  duty  in  any  case." 

"  But  how  much  one  has  to  give  up  to  become  a 
Christian." 

"  True,  some  sacrifice  is  required  of  all  who  would 
walk  the  road  to  heaven  ;  but  no  one  who  sets  out  in 
earnest  to  travel  the  way,  will  tell  you  that  they  have 
ever  lost  one  real  good.  They  speak  of  pleasure  the 
world  had  not  power  to  bestow,  which  they  have  tasted 
in  the  service  of  Jesus." 

•'  Did  n't  you  make  great  sacrifices,  Clara  ?  " 

"  The  sacrifice  I  made  did  not  seem  great  to  me." 

"  Suppose  you  felt  obliged  to  do  something  that 
would  mortify  your  pride  very  much  indeed,  then 
what  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  it  was  right  I  should  do  this  humiliating 
thing,  I  would  pray  for  strength  to  do  it,  and  cease 
not  to  struggle  against  my  pride  until  I  had  been  en- 
abled to  take  up  the  cross,  however  heavy  it  might  be. 
I  could  not  be  a  child  of  God,  if  I  refused  thus  to  mor- 
tify self." 

"  I  shall  never,  never  be  a  Christian  then  ;  for  I  never 
can  confess  to  Raymond  that  I  am  sorry  I  wrote  that 


310  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

unpleasant  letter,  and  ask  him  to  forgive  me  for  having 
sent  it  to  him." 

M  You  feel  that  you  did  wrong  to  write  it,  and  that 
which  was  worse  still,  to  send  it  to  him ;  then  why  not 
tell  Mr.  Philips  you  feel  so  ?  I  have  n't  a  doubt,  from 
"what  I  know  of  him,  that  he  would  gladly  forgive  you, 
and  rejoice,  too,  that  your  feelings  had  led  you  to  ac- 
knowledge your  error." 

Here  the  conversation  was  ended  for  a  time  by  a 
summons  these  two  cousins  received,  to  go  down 
stairs. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  oil 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

"  Go,  beside  all  waters  sow, 

In  the  morning  scatter  wide; 
Liberal  bid  thy  baud  bestow, 

At  the  fall  of  eventide. 
What  shall  spring,  or  where,  or  when, 

Thou  art  not  concerned  to  know ; 
Quickening  sunbeams,  genial.rain, 

God  in  his  own  time  will  show." 

r<  Why  should  we  be  called  down  stairs  in  this  pe- 
remptory manner,  I  wonder,"  said  Bessie  ;  "  I'm  half 
inclined  to  disregard  this  call  to  join  the  family." 

"  You  must  not,  Bessie  ;  we  must  both  go  down,  for 
I  dare  say  we  shall  find  some  pleasant  friend  has 
come  in." 

"  Mrs.  Sedgwick  perhaps  has  called,"  said  Bessie, 
as  she  followed  Clara  mechanically  down  the  stairs.. 
"  I  don't  care  to  go  in,  now,"  was  on  Bessie's  lips, 
but  Clara,  suspecting  her  disinclination  for  company, 
opened  the  door  of  the  parlor,  where  the  sound  of 
voices  told  her  the  family  had  assembled.  The  first 
person  Bessie  saw  upon  entering  the  room,  was  Ray- 
mond Philips.  She  would  have  retreated  immediately, 
had  she  not  been  noticed  by  the  mother  of  Raymond, 
who  extended  her  hand  to  Bessie,  and  thus  prevented 
her  intended  exit. 

Raymond  arose  and  shook  hands  with  the  down- 
cast girl,  as  cordially. as  if  she  had  not  given  him  rea- 
son to  treat  her  cooly.  Clara  grasped  the  hand  of 
this  friend,  with  too  much  warmth   and  frankness  to 


312  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

leave  any  room  for  the  suspicion  that  she  was  tenderly 
attached  to  him. 

"  I  am  very,  very  glad  to  meet  you  again/'  said 
Clara,  "and  the  more  so,  because  your  visit  was  so 
entirely  unexpected." 

Raymond  returned  her  kindly  greeting,  with  great 
sincerity,  and  with  as  much  affectionate  regard  as  if 
he  had  not  known  that  Bessie  was  taking  cognizance 
of  all  his  acts.  A  close  observer  would  have  seen  a 
shade  of  anxiety  resting  upon  his  open  countenance, 
but  his  manner  was  as  free  from  embarrassment  as 
possible,  and  having  saluted  the  young  ladies  courte- 
ously, he  resumed  his  part  of  a  conversation  which 
their  entrance  had  interrupted. 

"You  asked  me,  I  think,  Mrs.  Murray,  my  opinion 
in  regard  to  the  fall  of  Vicksburg.  I  must  ,say,  in 
reply,  that  I  believe  General  Grant  will  have  the  place 
sometime  during  the  coming  summer.  He  has  much 
to  contend  with  ;  subordinate  officers  are  a  great  ob- 
stacle in  the  way  of  a  General  ;  and  I  have  pretty 
good  reasons  for  believing  "that  all  the  Captains  and 
Lieutenants  in  his  command  are  not  temperance  men, 
and  the  General  is  often  nonplussed  for  a  few  hours, 
by  the  want  of  sobriety  among  his  inferior  officers. 
Drunkenness  is  so  common  a  sin,  among  the  commis- 
sioned soldiers  in  the  army  and  navy,  that  there  is 
little  hope  that  it  will  ever  be  entirely  banished  from 
either." 

"This  is  a  lamentable  fact,"  said  Mrs.  Clement. 
"  It  puzzles  me,"  she  continued,  "  to  conjecture  the 
reason  the  Government  seems  to  see  existing,  for  com- 
missioned officers  to  have  spirits  at  their  control.  It 
appears  to  me  it  would  be  quite  as  sensible  to  let  them 


1JESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  313 

have  arsenic,  or  any  other  poison,  to  tamper  with, 
while  as  a  body  they  are  less  fit  to  have  access  to 
spirituous  liquors  than  the  private  soldiers  and  sail- 
ors ;  and,  very  wisely,  Government  forbids  this  last 
class  the  free  use  of  strong  drink. " 

"I  think  that  Uncle  Sam  should  care  as  tenderly 
for  the  morals  of  the  officers  as  for  those  of  the  men," 
remarked  Mrs.  Phillips,  by  way  of  replying  to  what 
Mrs.  Clement  had  said. 

"  Do  you  think  the  Rebel  General  will  attempt  to 
invade  Pennsylvania?"  inquired  Mrs.  Jenkins,  ad- 
dressing her  question  to  Raymond. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  believe  he  intends  trying  the 
strength  of  our  forces  in  that  direction.  Many  differ 
with  me  in  thus  thinking ;  but  I  should  not  be  surprised 
if  some  of  our  friends  in  the  keystone  State  should  re- 
ceive a  visit  from  a  portion  of  his  army,  before  long." 

"  0,  I  hope  you  will  be  proved,  by  time,  a  false 
prophet,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  that  this  war  will  ever  be  brought  so  near  the 
New  England  States." 

"  But  if  the  greatest  good  can  be  accomplished  by 
our  submitting  to  the  trial  of  having  our  own  homes 
become  the  theatre  of  military  display,  we  ought  to 
be  willing  that  this  war  should  close,  even  at  our  own 
doors.  The  people  need  to  be  aroused  again  as  they 
were  by  the  first  blow  that  was  struck  by  the  Rebel- 
lion." 

"  Then  you  don't  dread  the  approach  of  Lee's  army 
into  Pennsylvania,"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  do,  on  all  accounts.     I  should 
dread  the  loss  of  life  which  would  follow  in  the  foot- 
steps of  this   Rebel   General,  if  he  should   plant  his 
27 


314  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND; 

treacherous  feet  upon  the  soil  of  that  State.  He 
would  have  everything  at  stake  if  he  should  advance 
so  far  Northward,  and  the  very  risk  he  would  run 
would  make  him  desperate  ;  still,  the  effect  upon  the 
loyal  North  would  be  to  fire  the  hearts  of  the  people 
anew  with  patriotism.  Some  men  need  to  have  an  ob- 
ject right  before  their  eyes,  in  order  to  be  convinced 
that  it  has  an  existence  ;  and  some  really  loyal  men 
are  resting  as  contentedly,  after  having  given  a  few 
dollars  to  the  Union  cause,  as  if  they  thought  there 
was  no  more  to  be  done.  Our  foes  are  more  vigilant 
at  present  than  we  are." 

Bessie  did  not  lose  one  word  which  fell  from  the  lips 
of  Raymond.  She  scarcely  spoke  at  all,  herself,  but 
her  countenance  expressed  no  displeasure  at  anything 
that  was  said  by  any  of  the  company.  She  wondered 
if  Raymond  would  go  away  without  asking  for  a  pri- 
vate interview  with  herself;  and  Clara  was  anxious 
to  know,  also,  whether  he  would,  during  all  his  visit, 
bear  himself  toward  her  cousin  as  he  had  thus  far. 
No  one,  not  acquainted  with  the  parties,  would  ever 
have  imagined,  judging  from  the  manner  of  this  young 
couple  toward  each  other,  that  they  had  ever  been 
more  than  common  friends. 

When  Raymond  took  his  leave,  he  shook  hands  with 
Bessie  as  he  did  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  no 
look  or  word  from  him,  said  more  to  her  than  to  the 
others.  When  Mrs.  Jenkins  invited  him  to  visit  her 
house  again,  he  thanked  her,  and  then  said,  "  I  should 
be  happy  to  come  again,  if  my  stay  at  home  was  not 
very  limited  indeed.  My  visit  home  is  necessarily 
birdlike  at  this  time.  If  I*  live,  I  shall  probably  be 
able  to  get  leave  of  absence  for  a  longer  period  before 
many  months  have  gone." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  315 

His  "  good  by  "  to  each  was  cheerful,  and  Bessie 
was  almost  hurt  with  him  because  he  was  not  unhap- 
py. She  expressed  this  feeling  to  Clara,  who  asked 
her,  playfully,  if  it  was  because  misery  is  fond  of  com- 
pany, that  she  was  disturbed  by  the  cheerfulness  of 
the  young  Lieutenant. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  am  disturbed  by  it ;  I  don't 
know  exactly  how  I  do  feel ;  I  only  wish  I  could  know 
that  he  cares  for  me." 

"  Try  him,  cousin,  by  telling  him  that  you  feel  you 
have  treated  him  ill." 

"  I  dare  not ;  if  he  should  repulse  my  offer  of  recon- 
ciliation, I  could  not  bear  the  pain  it  would  cause  me, 
Clara  ;  I  dare  not  try  him." 

"Your  distrust  is  not  very  complimentary  to  Ray- 
mond, cousin  Bessie." 

"I  know  it,  Clara;  but  then,  to  see  him  shake 
hands  with  me  so  calmly,  while  I  was  trembling  like 
a  leaf  in  autumn,  shows  plainly  that  he  has  thrown 
my  love  aside.  I  suppose  his  country  takes  the  place 
in  his  heart  which  I  once  held." 

"Jealous  again,  cousin;  I  should  think  you  would 
be  glad  that  he  does  love  his  country ;  I  cannot  easily 
love  a  person  who  does  not  care  a  great  deal  for  our 
Government,  for  I  feel  that  those  who  can.be  indiffer- 
ent, even,  to  the  claims  which  the  land  of  their  birth 
has  upon  them,  lack  the  requisites  for  making  a  true 
friend." 

"  I  have  not,  until  within  a  year  or  two,  ever  given 
a  thought  to  what  has  been  going  on  in  the  land. 
Mother  never  said  anything  about  public  affairs  ;  she 
did  not  even  read  the  papers.  I  have  often  heard 
mother  say  that  Uncle  Sam  was  big  enough  to  take 


316  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

care  of  himself,  when  our  grandmother  has  tried  to 
get  her  interested  in  some  matter  that  was  popular  in 
the  nation.  Nowadays,  mother  seems  to  be  waking 
up  to  the  fact  that  women  have  something  to  do,  in 
helping  make  the  popular  sentiment  of  the  country  : 
she  has  said  more  upon  national  affairs  within  the  last 
year,  than  she  has  since  my  remembrance,  before. 
But  I  want  to  talk  about  Raymond  ;  I  almost  wish  I 
had  asked  him  for  a  private  interview/'' 

"  Would  you  have  told  him  your  feelings  in  respect 
to  the  letter,  Bessie,  had  you  seen  him  alone,  think 
you  ?  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  should  have  shrunk  from  the- task  ; 
I  don't  know  as  I  could  have  said  anything  to  him. 
But  Clara,  cousin,  1  am  sorry  I  was  ever  jealous  of 
him  at  all." 

"  Yet  you  will  let  him  go  again  to  a  post  of  danger 
and  not  tell  him  so." 

Bessie  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sat  si- 
lent for  some  minutes  ere  she  made  any  reply.  She 
then  said,  with  apparent  deep  feeling,  "I  must  be- 
come a  whole  Christian  before  I  can  do  that,  Clara." 


BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND.  317 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"  it  is  not  best, 

That  no  afflictions  come; 

These  are  the  furnaces  that  try, 

And  fit  the  soul  for  home. 

The  chast'ning  rod  that  heaven  doth  send, 

To  teach  us  where  to  find  a  Friend." 

Weeks  passed,  after  the  incidents  occurred  which 
have  been  related  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  and  still 
Bessie  did  not  relapse  into  that  mood,  the  indulgence 
of  which  had  brought  pain  to  her  friends  as  well  as  to 
herself.  She  was  becoming  strongly  attached  to 
Clara  ;  so  much  so,  that  she  was  unwilling  to  be  separ- 
ated from  her  even  for  a  few  hours.  Both  the  moth- 
ers of  these  young  ladies  were  pleased  to  see  this  in- 
timacy of  their  daughters,  and  both  were  glad,  most  of 
all,  because  this  friendship  would,  they  hoped,  result 
in  good  to  Bessie.  In  their  anxiety  for  this  object  of 
their  love  and  solicitude,  they  forgot  that  Clara  was 
blessed  even  more  than  Bessie  ;  yet  she  realized  her- 
self that  while  she  imparted  comfort  to  her  cousin, 
her  own  heart  was  made  better  by  her  efforts  to  ben- 
efit another. 

It  was  the  earnest  desire  of  Clara,  that  Bessie  and 
Raymond  should  become  united  in  heart  as  they  had 
once  been.  She  would  have  them  united  by  purer, 
stronger  ties,  even,  than  those  which  had  bound  them, 
ere  Bessie  so  ruthlessly  put  Raymond  from  her  by  un- 
kindness.  Bessie  looked  eagerly  for  tidings  from 
Raymond/ whenever  his  mother  received  a  letter  from 
07* 


318  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

him.  She  would  not  make  inquiries  herself,  but  she 
would  contrive  to  lead  the  conversation  in  such  a 
way,  that  Clara  could  not  well  avoid  asking  many 
questions  about  the  young  man,  and  just  the  ques- 
tions Bessie  wished  to  hear  answered. 

Mrs.  Philips  well  understood  Bessie's  manoeuvring, 
and  she  was  well  satisfied  in  regard  to  the  interest 
she  felt  in  the  son  so  dear  to  her  heart.  It  was  no 
uncommon  thing  for  Clara  and  Bessie  to  call  upon 
Mrs.  Philips,  as  often  as  once  or  twice  a  week.  Clara 
was  attracted  towards  this  lady,  by  her  cheerful  piety, 
combined  with  great  vivacity  and  intelligence. 

"  I  enjoy  the  society  of  Raymond's  mother  so' very 
much,"  said  Clara,  one  warm  day  in  July,  "  that  I 
hardly  know  how  to  wait  three  days,  before  I  call  upon 
her  again." 

"  Why  need  you  wait  ?  "  asked  Bessie  ;  we  can  call 
upon  her  towards  evening  to-day,  if  you  say  so." 

"  Thank  you,  cousin  ;  we  will  go  then,  when  the  heat 
of  the  day  is  past." 

Before  the  hour  arrived  in  which  these  cousins  were 
to  seek  the  home  of  Mrs.  Philips,  an  evening  paper  was 
brought  in,  which  was  seized  with  avidity,  and  read  by 
Mrs.  Clement,  whose  interest  in  the  war  news  had  been 
great  and  unabated,  ever  after  these  hostilities  com- 
menced. Her  heart  thrilled  with  emotion  as  she  read 
an  account  of  the  raid  of  General  Lee  into  Pennsyl- 
vania, and  of  the  excitement  caused  by  the  fear  that 
he  might,  with  his  army,  reach  the  capital  of  the 
State.  She  read  this  great  news  aloud  to  her  grand- 
daughter, who  listened  in  silence  with  the  most  intense 
interest. 

Raymond  was  in  the  army  of  the  Potomac,  and  in 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  319 

his  letters  to  his  mother,  he  had  of  late  expressed  the 
wish  repeatedly,  that  General  Meade  would  allow  Lee 
to  reach  Philadelphia,  and  then  cut  off  his  retreat.  Ilis 
regiment  was  in  that  wing  of*  the  army  which  had  been 
ordered  to  give  the  Southrons  a  fitting  reception. 
They  had  met  the  foe,  and  had  fought  bravely.  Un- 
daunted by  difficulties,  each  rod  of  ground  was  fought 
for,  until  it  was  either  won  from  the  enemy  or  there 
were  not  able  men  enough  left  to  contend  longer. 
Raymond  was  one  of  the  bravest  soldiers  who  hon- 
ored the  stars  and  stripes  on  that  occasion,  and  his 
name  was  mentioned  in  the  list  of  casualties  after  the 
battle  of  the  second  or  third  of  July,  1863. 

The  news  had  come  with  electric  speed.  It  had 
flashed  over  the  wires  so  soon,  that,  when  it  was  read 
by  friends,  it  was  regarded  by  some  with  a  sort  of 
stupid  wonder.  It  was  thus  that  Clara  and  Bessie  felt 
in  respect  to  it,  as  they  sought  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Philips. 

"  I  wonder  if  Raymond's  mother  has  seen  this 
evening's  paper,"  said  Clara,  as  Bessie  rang  for  ad- 
mittance when  they  had  reached  the  home  of  Raymond  ; 
on  entering  the  house,  she  looked  anxiously  for  Mrs. 
Philips.  That  lady  soon  presented  herself,  and  wel- 
comed the  young  ladies  with  her  wonted  cheerfulness. 

"  I  don't  believe  she  has  heard  the  sad  news," 
thought  Bessie  ;  "  I  shall  hate  to  tell  her  that  Raymond 
is  reported  missing.  I  wish  I  knew  whether  she 
has  heard  about  my  writing  that  unkind  letter  to  him. 
He  has  n't  told  her,  I  am  sure,  but  then  that  meddle- 
some news-monger,  Miss  Benson,  must  have  informed 
her  about  it." 

These  thoughts  passed  swiftly  through  the  mind  of 


320  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Bessie  ;  so  swiftly,  that  a  moment  had  scarcely  elapsed, 
when  Mrs.  Philips  spo&e  of  the  tidings  which  had 
come  from  the  keystone  State. 

"  You  have  heard,  then,  that  Raymond  is  reported 
among  those  who  are  missing,"  said  Bessie. 

"  I  have,"  replied  Mrs.  Philips  ;  "yet  I  hope  that 
this  will  not  long  be  said  of  him  ;  still,  he  may  ever 
be  missing ;  yet,  while  I  can  hope  for  something  better, 
I  love  to  do  so." 

"But  you  don't  know  that  he  is  not  dead,"  said 
Bessie. 

The  tone  of  sadness  in  which  these  words  were  ut- 
tered, touched  the  hearts  of  both  Mrs.  Philips  and 
Clara. 

"  We  don't  know,  it  is  true,  anything  about  his  con- 
dition ;  still,  it  is  more  pleasant  to  indulge  bright 
fancies  than  gloomy  ones.  I  shall  hope  for  the  best, 
while  I  wish  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst  that  can 
come,"  said  Raymond's  mother. 

"  He  may  be  wounded  and  be  at  this  moment  lying 
faint  and  suffering,  where  he  cannot  have  suitable 
care.  I  don't  believe  we  shall  ever  hear  from  him 
again,"  said  Bessie. 

Mrs.  Philips  strove  to  cheer  her  despondency,  for 
she  pitied  her  greatly.  She  did  not  know  how  much 
cause  Bessie  had  to  reproach  herself,  for  having  acted 
unkindly  towards  her  son.  Had  this  Christian  mother 
known  this,  she  would  have  pitied  the  poor  girl  more  ; 
but  she  regarded  Bessie  as  one  destitute  of  the  only 
solace  for  a  bleeding  heart. 

"  I  can  carry  my  sorrows  to  the  feet  of  my  Saviour," 
reflected  Mrs.  Philips ;  "  but  poor  Bessie  has  no 
such  solace.     She  is  still  a  .stranger  to  that  sweet  feel- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  321 

ing  of  submission  to  the  will,of  a  kind  and  holy  God, 
which  all  experience,  who  trust  in  llim  without 
reserve.  1  must  forget  my  own  pain,  in  the  pleasure 
it  will  give  me  to  comfort  her." 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  this  fond  mother  striving  to 
administer  consolation  to  another,  while  her  own  heart 
was  wrung  with  that  anguish  of  suspense,  which  only 
a  mother  can  know. .  It  was  enough  for  her  to  know 
that  Bessie's  heart  was  filled  with  grief,  by  the  tidings 
that  had  reached  her,  to  make  her  merge  her  own  sor- 
row in  that  of  one  whom  she  knew  had  long  been 
dear  to  her  son.  Many  were  the  words  of  hope  and 
comfort  which  she  spoke  to  Bessie,  on  that  long  to  be 
remembered  evening,  and  the  poor  girl  left  her  house, 
at  the  close  of  the  evening,  with  a  more  exalted  opin- 
ion of  Mrs.  Philips  than  she  had  hitherto  indulged, 
while  she  esteemed  herself  less  than  she  had  ever 
before  done.  The  heart  of  Bessie  relented  at  the 
thought  that  pride  had  prevented  her  from  acknowl- 
edging to  Raymond,  that  she  felt  she  had  done  him 
wrong.  She  wished  she  had  told  him  this,  when  she 
could  have  done  so. 

The  walk  home  was  a  silent  one.  Albert  Jenkins 
had  been  commissioned  by  his  mother  to  attend  them 
on  the  way.  The  heart  of  this  merry  lad,  was  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  sadness  of  his  family,  for  he  loved 
Raymond,  and,  much  as  he  blamed  Bessie,  he  could 
not  find  it  in  his  heart,  now,  to  say  a  word  that  would 
vex  her. 

"How  I  wish  I  had  told  Raymond  my  feelings, 
when  he  was  here/'  Bessie  exclaimed,  when  she 
found  herself  alone  with  Clara.  "  Why  did  n't  I  ?  why 
did  n't  I  ?  "  she  repeated  in  a  tone  of  anguish. 


322  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"You  was  ashamed  to  tell  him,  you  felt  that  you 
was  wrong,"  replied  Clara,  who  spoke  very  tenderly 
and  soothingly,  while  she  felt  that  she  must  speak  the 
truth,  if  she  would  do  her  cousin  good. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  I  was  too  proud  to  tell  him  ;  and 
now  he  is  gone  ;  gone  I  fear,  forever,"  answered 
Bessie.  "  0,  I  shall  never  want  to  see  any  one  I 
know,  but  you,  again,  Clara.  I  am  so  wretched  I  can 
scarcely  bear  to  live  ;  and  yet  I'm  afraid  to  die,  for  I 
know  I'm  not  fit.  If  Raymond  is  dead,  I  shall  never 
see  him  in  either  world,  again." 

In  this  way  Bessie  continued  to  talk,  while  she 
paced  the  floor  of  her  room  until  near  morning.  After 
vainly  attempting  for  a  long  time  to  comfort  her,  Clara 
sat  silently  regarding  her  cousin,  and  offering  silent 
prayer  to  God,  in  her  behalf,  until  the  tempest  of  her 
sorrow  began  to  subside.  It  was  near  daybreak  when 
Bessie,  exhausted  by  weeping  and  vain  lamentations, 
came  to  the  side  of  Clara,  and  sat  down.  The  storm 
of  her  grief  was  only  lulled  ;  not  one  cloud  had  van- 
ished, which  had  darkened  her  soul's  horizon,  and  no 
star  of  hope  would  she  allow  to  pierce  the  darkness  ; 
still,  her  exhausted  nature  demanded  rest  for  a  time, 
and  would  have  it. 

Clara  assisted  her  to  undress,  and  as  Bessie  laid 
her  head  upon  her  pillow,  she  said,  mournfully,  "  I 
don't  care  to  arise  from  this  bed  again,  Clara  ;  for  why 
should  I?" 

Clara  kissed  the  cheek  of  her.  cousin,  but  did  not 
speak.  She  thought,  however,  of  many  reasons  why 
Bessie  should  care  to  leave  her  bed  again,  still,  she 
felt  it  would  be  unwise  to  mention  any  of  them,  on 
that  occasion ;  so  she  laid  down  by  her  cousin,  in  si- 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  323 

lence,  and  soon  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  she 
did  not  awake  until  near  breakfast-time,  the  next 
morning.  The  first  object  that  met  her  eyes  as  she 
opened  them  was  Bessie,  with  her  face  covered  with  a 
handkerchief. 

The  sun  was  brightly  shining,  and  Clara's  heart 
longed  to  see  her  cousin  cheered  by  its  kindly  light. 

"  Come,  Cousin  Bessie,  look  up  and  see  the  beauti- 
ful sun  which  has  arisen  before  us  this  morning,"  said 
she,  as  she  put  her  arms  around  the  weeping  girl, 
when  she  was  ready  to  leave  the  chamber.  "  I  don't 
love  to  go  down  stairs  without  you,  Bessie ;  you  will 
go  with  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  go,  Clara ;  I  cannot  bear  to  see  the  sun- 
shine ;  I  wish  it  would  not  shine  while  my  heart  is  so 
sad  ;  and  it  must  always  be  so  ;  I  can  never  be  happy 
again." 

"0,  yes,  Bessie  ;  Raymond  will  perhaps  come  again, 
then  you  will  tell  him  that  you  regret  what  you  have 
done,  and  you  will  both  be  happy.  But  T  must  not 
disregard  this  summons  to  breakfast,  for  this  is  the 
second  time  the  bell  has  rung." 

Clara  descended  to  the  breakfast-room  with  a  feel- 
ing of  reluctance,  for  it  grieved  her  to  be  obliged  to 
leave  her  cousin  in  her  present  condition.  She  had 
been  so  hopeful  in  regard  to  Bessie,  that  this  indul- 
gence of  selfish  feeling  on  her  part,  disappointed  her. 
She  could  not  but  contrast  Bessie's  violent  demon- 
strations of  sorrow  with  the  chastened  expressions  of 
grief  that  were  made  by  Raymond's  mother.  It  was 
the  first  time  since  Clara  had  been  an  inmate  of  her 
aunt's  family,  that  she  had  appeared  at  the  table  with 
a  troubled  countenance.     Her  grandmother  and  aunt 


324  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

were  quick  to  notice  the  cloud  that  was  passing  over 
her  face,  as  she  seated  herself  at  the  table.  Yet  this 
cloud  was  not  settled  there  ;  its  stay  was  transient ; 
it  passed  away,  and  left  the  countenance  of  our  young 
friend  seemingly  brighter  than  it  had  been  before  its 
approach. 

Clara  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  had  not  slept 
until  near  daylight,  and  in  reply  to  the  anxious  in- 
quiries of  her  aunt,  she  was  forced  to  reveal  the  truth 
in  regard  to  Bessie.  Mrs.  Jenkins  sighed  deeply  on 
hearing  of  the  great  sorrow  of  her  daughter.  She 
well  knew  that  Bessie  had  given  poignancy  to  her 
own  grief,  by  treating  Raymond  unkindly,  and  she 
feared  that  the  news  which  had  now  reached  her, 
would  be  so  terrible  a  blow  that  she  would  sink  under 
it. 

"How  stern  a  discipline  is  poor  Bessie's,"  said  her 
mother. 

"  Never  fear,  my  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Clement ; 
"  she  is  in  good  hands,  and  if  she  only  comes  out  of 
the  furnace  more  free  from  dross,  we  shall  all  have 
reason  to  be  grateful  forever." 

"  But,  mother,  Bessie  may  become  insane  ;  I  some- 
times think  she  is  constitutionally  liable  to  disease  of 
the  brain." 

M  There  is,  I  believe,  an  effectual  remedy  against 
insanity  ;  and  prevention  is  better  than  cure.  I  feel 
that  entire,  cheerful  submission  to  our  lot  in  life,  is  al- 
most certain  to  prevent  lunacy." 

"  But  poor  Bessie  is  not  pious,  mother." 

"  I  know  that,  daughter  ;  but  that  is  not  a  reason 
that  she  cannot  be." 

"  I  feel  and  think  as  you  do,  about  Cousin  Bessie, 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  325 

grandmother,"  said  Clara;  "and  I  believe,  also,  that 
she  will  never  be  united  again,  in  true  friendship  with 
Raymond,   unless  she  first  yields  the  point  against 
which  she  is  now  contending.     I  am  aware  that  there 
is  a  great  conflict  in  her  heart,  continually,  and  has 
been  ever  since  I  have  been  here.     I  am  anxious  about 
her,  sometimes,  lest  she  should  sink,  spirit  weary,  ere 
she  gains  the  victory  over  self  and  pride.     Last  night 
she  struggled  hard.     I  trembled  for  her  before  her 
physical  strength  failed  ;  but  this  morning  the  conflict 
is  renewed  in  her  soul,  and  I  hope  and  fear  for  her  al- 
ternately." 
"  She  must  need  refreshment,"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 
"  I  shall  take  some  breakfast  up  stairs,  and  perhaps 
T  can  persuade  her  to  eat  a  little,"  said  Clara. 

She  did  so,  and  by  dint  of  persuasion,  Bessie  drank 
first  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  afterwards  partook  of  a  few 
mouthfuls  of  toast.  She  then  pushed  the  plate  upon 
which  it  was  laid  away  from  her,  with  apparent  dis- 
gust, saying,  as  she  did  so,  "I  cannot  eat ;  I  will  not 
try  any  more,  for  it  seems  as  if  every  mouthful  I  at- 
tempt to  swallow  would  choke  me." 

"  Cannot  you  pray,  my  dear  cousin  ?  "  asked  Clara. 

"  I  wish  I  could  ;  but  when  I  try  to,  that  letter  of 

Raymond's,  the  one  I  wrote  to  him,  I  mean,  comes 

into  my  mind,  and  I  cannot  think  of  anything   that  I 

dare  pray  for." 

"Dare  not  you   pray  for   forgiveness,   for   doing 
wrong  ?  " 

"  No,  Clara  ;  because  I  must  confess  my  sins  if  I 
expect  to  be  forgiven." 

"That  is  very  true,  Bessie;  but  it  is  not  hard  to 
confess.     Try,  and  see  how  easy  it  is,  after  you  once 
28 


326  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

resolve  to  do  it.  Suppose  you  resolve  now,  asking 
God  to  help  you  to  keep  the  resolution,  to  write  to 
Raymond,  if  you  ever  have  an  opportunity  to  write,  or 
communicate  with  him  in  any  way,  to  tell  him  you  re- 
gret what  you  have  done,  and  ask  his  forgiveness." 

"I  could  write  to  Raymond,  Clara,  if  I  knew  that 
he  would  not  live  ;  but  it  seems  so  humiliating,  to 
think  of  ever  seeing  him  afterwards." 

"  Now,  Bessie,  you  remind  me  of  a  man  who  said 
once,  he  would  forgive  a  man,  towards  whom  he  had 
indulged  a  feeling  of  hatred,  if  he  died  ;  I  but  mind 
you/  said  the  sick  man,  'if  I  get  well,  I  shall  feel 
towards  you  and  treat  you  as  I  have  done/  " 

Bessie  looked  earnestly  at  Clara  as  she  related  this 
little  anecdote. 

'  "  Such  a  way  of  confessing  my  foibles  will  not  do," 
answered  she  ;  "  I  must  repent,  from  my  heart,  if  at 
all." 

"  Certainly  ;  "  and  you  intend  to  repent  thus  sin- 
cerely, Bessie,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  intend  to  do  ;  at 
one  time  I  feel  that  I  can  give  up  this  dread  of  hum- 
bling myself,  to  own  to  Raymond  that  I  have  done 
wrong,  and  then  again  .1  feel  that  I  cannot  thus  de- 
grade myself." 

"  You  would  not  be  degraded  by  confessing  that 
you  was  sorry  for  a  fault.  It  is  a  false  view  of  the 
subject  that  leads  you  to  this  conclusion." 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  differently  ;  you  cannot  know 
how  miserable  I  am,"  answered  Bessie. 

Days  and  weeks  passed,  during  which  frequent 
conversations,  similar  to  the  one  we  have  here  narrated, 
took   place  in  Bessie's  "chamber.      Her  mother,  her 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  327 

grandmother,  and  her  aunt,  each  in  turn,  tried  their 
powers  of  persuasion  upon  this  heartsick  girl,  still, 
apparently  to  little  purpose.  To  her  cousin  Clara  she 
became  an  object  of  intense  interest.  This  disinter- 
ested girl  knew  that  Bessie  was  gifted  with  powers, 
which,  if  used  aright,  would  make  her  a  means  of 
great  good  to  the  world.  She  was  aware,  too,  that 
her  conflict  with  evil  must,  of  necessity,  be  terrible, 
before  she  could  triumph  over  the  long-indulged  self- 
ishness of  her  heart.  She  saw  that  a  conflict  was  al- 
ready raging,  which  she  prayed  and  trusted  would 
result  in  victory  over  the  pride  which  had  long  op- 
pressed her  better  judgment. 

Bessie  saw  and  felt  that  Clara  had  probed  her  char- 
acter to  its  utmost  depths,  and  she  knew  that  she  was 
thoroughly  understood  by  her  cousin.  She  suffered 
in  her  own  esteem,  whenever  she  ventured  to  com- 
pare herself  with  Clara. 

"  How  can  she  love  me,  and  seek  daily  to  promote 
my  happiness,  when  I  treated  her  so  very  unkindly  when 
she  first  knew  me.  It  was  very  foolish  in  me  to  be 
jealous  of  the  interest  Raymond  felt  in  her  ;  yet  she 
seems  to  have  forgotten  my  conduct,  though  I  can 
never  forget  it.  I  hope  she  won't  go  home  with 
grandmother,  for  I  should  not  know  how  to  get  along 
without  her,  now ;  still,  I  am  ashamed  to  ask  her  to 
stay  longer." 

Bessie,  however,  did  entreat  Clara  very  earnestly 
to  remain  with  her,  while  Mrs.  Clement  and  Mrs. 
Murray  went  to  the  home  of  the  former,  a  spot  sacred 
to  the  other  as  the  home  of  her  childhood  and  youth. 
Clara  had  long  anticipated  a  visit  to  the  home  of  her 
mother's  girlhood,  but  as  Bessie  was  anxious  to  have 


328  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

her  stay  longer  with  her,  and  she  might  hope  to  do 
her  good  by  setting  aside  her  own  wishes,  she  did  so 
cheerfully,  and  devoted  herself  more  constantly  than 
ever  to  the  task  of  illuming,  by  her  smiling  countenance 
and  playful  sallies,  the  gloom  which  seemed  to  be 
settling  upon  the  life  of  Bessie. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  329 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"  When  I  came  hither  to  transport  the  tidings, 
Which  I  have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumor 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out." 

"No  mind  that's  honest, 
But  in  it,  shares  some  woe ;  though  the  main  part, 
Pertains  to  you  alone." 

Weeks  passed,  after  the  battle  at  Gettysburg,  and 
still  no  tidings  from  Raymond  reached  his  home. 
Hope  still  lingered  in  the  breast  of  his  mother  ;  still, 
its  influence  was  at  times  scarcely  felt.  She  was  about 
resigning  herself  to  the  loss  of  this  son,  who  had  been 
her  greatest  earthly  comfort,  when  a  letter  was  brought 
to  her  one  evening,  which  had  been  postmarked  at 
Annapolis.  Mrs.  Philips  could  not  recognize  the 
handwriting,  and  took  the  missive  from  its  envelope, 
with  a  feeling  of  dread. 

As  her  eye  glanced  over  the  first  few  lines,  she 
found  that  the  letter,  though  it  had  been  directed  by 
her  son,  had  been  penned  by  a  stranger.  Raymond 
had  been  wounded  again,  and  was  now  a  prisoner  of 
war,  in  addition  to  being  a  sufferer  from  two  wounds, 
which  he  had  received  on  the  day  previous  to  that  on 
which  the  forces  of  General  Lee  had  been  routed  by 
the  Union  Army.  One  of  these  wounds  was  in  his 
neck,  the  other  in  his  leg. 

Raymond  had  been  paroled,  and  had  been  as  kindly 
treated  as  one  could  expect.  A  friend,  whose  wound 
had  been  but  trifling,  compared  with  his,  had  exerted 
28* 


330  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

himself  to  do  for  him  all  that  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  were  placed  would  admit  of  his  doing. 
This  letter  was  short,  yet  it  came  opportunely,  and 
the  intelligence  it  contained  was  less  trying  to  this 
mother's  heart,  than  the  suspense  she  had  so  long  en- 
dured. She  had  reason  to  think  that  Raymond  had 
suffered  more  than  he  would  care  to  have  her  know. 

No  mention  was  made  in  the  letter  of  his  feeling  the 
want  of  anything  ;  still,  she  feared  he  was  obliged  to 
live  upon  scanty  rations,  if  the  many  reports  which 
had  reached  her  were  true,  in  regard  to  the  high  prices 
of  provisions  at  the  South. 

"I  will  try  and  do  something  for  my  noble  son," 
said  Mrs.  Philips,  after  she  had  indulged  herself  in 
shedding  a  few  tears  ;  "but  first,  I  will  go  and  ac- 
quaint Bessie  with  the  contents  of  my  letter." 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  the  letter  was  placed  in 
the  hands  of  her  to  whom  it  had  been  addressed,  this 
lady  sat  by  the  bedside  of  Bessie*  and  perused  it. 

"  I  thought  I  would  bring  you  his  address  at  once, 
Bessie/'  said  this  friend;  "so  I  came  immediately; 
but  I  mustn't  stop,  for  I  wish  to  send  something  to 
Raymond  as  soon  as  I  possibly  can,  for  I  fear  he  may 
be  destitute  of  some  of  the  comforts  of  life." 

Having  said  this,  Mrs.  Philips  took  leave  of  Bessie, 
and  in  her  haste  failed  to  notice  the  perturbation  that 
was  becoming  visible  in  Bessie's  manner. 

"lam  glad  she  did  not  stay  longer,"  said  Bessie  to 
Clara,  when  Mrs.  Philips  had  gone,  "  for  I  could  not 
have  disguised  my  feelings,  had  she  spoken  to  me 
about  writing  to  Raymond.  She  would  think  it  very 
strange  if  I  should  tell  her  it  was  not  my  intention  to 
write  to  him,  because  she  does  n't  know  that  I  should 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  331 

bo  obliged  to  write  such  a  letter  as  could  not  well  go 
unsealed." 

"But,  Bessie,"  said  her  cousin,  "don't  you  know 
that  you  will  be  obliged  to  write  such  a  letter  as  you 
speak  of,  to  Raymond,  and  that  you  will  never  get 
well  until  you  have  written  it  ?  You  will  not,  it  is  true, 
be  obliged  to  send  it  unsealed  to  the  parole  camp  ;  and 
the  sooner  you  write  it,  the  sooner  your  heart  will 
grow  light,  and  you  will  be  well  again.  I  have,  my 
dear  Bessie,  wished  to  say  to  you,  before  this,  what  I 
will  ask  you  to  allow  me  to  say  now." 

**  What  is  it  you  would  say,  Clara  ?  " 

"  I  would  tell  you  I  feel  that  your  lying  here,  brood, 
ing  over  your  trials,  is  a  sad  waste  of  time.  You 
will  never  find  comfort  in  this  way  ;  your  physi- 
cian affirms  that  it  is  your  mind  that  affects  your 
health  ;  and  now,  Bessie,  if  you  love  your  mother, 
and  care  to  give  her  comfort,  say  to  the  evil  spirit, 
which  is  whisperiifg  words  that  make  you  shrink 
from  doing  right,  '  Get  thee  behind  me  Satan.'  Re- 
solve to  think  first  of  your  obligations  to  your  heav- 
enly Father  ;  then  of  your  duty  to  others,  which  grow 
out  of  these  relations.  Change  the  subject  of  your 
thoughts  but  for  one  day,  and  I  venture  to  predict 
that  a  favorable  change  in  your  health  will  be  the  re- 
sult." 

"  You  think  I  must  determine  to  do  my  duty,  let  it 
be  ever  so  mortifying  to  my  pride." 

"  Yes,  Bessie  ;  let  it  bring  whatever  reproach  it 
may  upon  us,  we  must  all  come  to  this  point  before 
we  can  see  the  face  of  God  in  peace,  or  even  have 
peace  in  our  own  hearts." 

"  A  hard  truth  this,  if  indeed,  it  be  truth,  which  I 


332  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

suppose  it  must  be.  I  wish  you  could  help  me, 
Clara." 

"  I  would,  if  I  could,  gladly  ;  but  no  power  on  earth 
can  help  you." 

"  I  cannot  do  this  myself,  Cousin  Clara." 

"  But  you  can  do  some  one  thing  which  you  know 
is  duty,  and  then  you  can  talk  about  the  rest." 

Bessie  was  silent  for  a  short  time,  then  raising  her- 
self to  a  sitting  posture  in  bed,  she  asked  Clara  to 
bring  her  writing-desk  to  her. 

"lam  going  to  write  to  Raymond  this  very  hour, 
and  then  if  he  does  not  live  to  receive  my  letter,  I 
shall  have  done  all  I  could,  in  this  respect." 

Clara  gladly  brought  the  writing  materials,  and  en- 
couraged Bessie  to  perform  this  duty  she  had  so  long 
dreaded.  She  laid  a  sheet  of  paper  upon  the  desk  be- 
fore her,  and  placed  an  inkstand  and  pen  near  by. 
Then  she  sat  down  at  a  little  distance,  and  busied  her- 
self with  her  work,  yet  ever  atid  anon  she  cast  a 
glance  at  the  face  of  her  cousin,  as  she  traced  the  lines 
which  would  probably  some  day  gladden  the  heart  of 
the  far-off,  suffering  prisoner.  The  expression  of  Bes- 
sie's countenance  changed,  as  she  wrote ;  a  light 
gleamed  from  her  eye  upon  the  page  before  her,  and 
when  she  had  finished  writing,  a  smile  of  ineffable 
sweetness  illumed  her -features. 

"I  have  done  it,  Clara;  I  have  been  enabled  to 
conquer  self,  and  I  am  so  glad,"  said  she,  exult- 
ingly. 

Clara  ran  to  the  bedside,  and  clasped  her  arms 
around  Bessie  ;  yet  her  heart  was  too  full  for  utter- 
ance ;  she  could  only  kiss  her  cousin,  while  tears  of 
joy  ran  down  her  cheeks.     Well  might  this  young 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  333 

Christian  be  joyful,  when  she  had  reason  to  believe 
that  angels  in  heaven  were,  at  that  moment,  rejoicing 
over  this  repentant  one.  Bessie  was  the  first  to  break 
this  thrilling  silence. 

"  It  seems  so  easy  to  submit  now,"  said  she,  "  that 
I  wonder  I  could  have  held  out  so  long.  I  feel  as  if 
I  wished  every  one  to  be  as  happy  as  I  am  now.  I 
wish  you,  Clara,  to  take  this  letter,  lest  I  should  ever 
feel  differently,  and  shrink  from  sending  it ;  and  I  feel 
as  if  it  must  be  sent  to  Raymond,  since  I  have  ex- 
pressed all  my  feelings  towards  him,  in  it." 

"  I  trust  you  will  never  feel  disposed  to  keep  this 
letter  from  Raymond,  for  I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  com- 
fort to  him  to  read  it,  if  you  have  told  him  all." 

"  I  wish  you  to  read  it,  Clara,  and  judge  for  your- 
self whether  it  will  make  him  happy." 

Clara  took  the  letter  and  perused  it,  while  tears  of 
joy  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"  You  will  never  repent  the  decision  you  have  made, 
Bessie  ;  all  your  regrets  will  be  because  you  have  not 
made  it  sooner.  Your  letter  will  be  treated  sacredly, 
if  sent  now." 

"  I  will  wait  until  I  hear  from  Raymond,"  replied 
Bessie. 

The  change  in  this  young  lady  was  very  visible  in 
her  outward  acts  ;  instead  of  abstaining  from  food,  and 
yielding,  to  despondency,  she  resolved  to  use  every 
means  in  her  power  to  recover  her  strength ;  therefore, 
her  mother  was  most  agreeably  surprised  to  find  at 
supper  time  on  the  evening  of  that  day,  that  the  appe- 
tite of  her  daughter  was  much  improved. 

"lam  glad  to  learn  that  you  relished  your  tea  this 
evening,* Bessie,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins  ;  "  and  hope  you 
feel  better  than  you  have  for  some  time." 


334  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

' '  Mother,  I  feel  better  than  I  ever  did  before  in  my 
life." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  looked  surprised,  for  Clara  had  not 
spoken  of  the  change  in  Bessie,  and  she  wondered  at 
her  cheerful  countenance ;  it  was  unlike  the  face  she 
had  met  in  that  chamber,  for  so  long  a  period. 

"  "What  has  made  you  so  much  better,  daughter  ?  " 
inquired  her  mother,  with  a  happy  smile. 

11  Having  been  made  to  realize  my  obligations  as  an 
immortal  being,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  sleeping  all  my 
lifetime,  for  I  have  lived,  until  this  afternoon,  without 
any  high  and  noble  purpose  of  action ;  thoughtlessly 
and  ungratefully  have  I  spent  the  best  years  of  my 
life.  Many,  many  precious  hours  have  I  wasted  in 
sad,  miserable  repinings.  I  wonder  at  the  goodness 
that  has  spared  me  during  all  these  years.  I  hope 
Raymond  will  live  to  be  exchanged,  so  that  I  can  send 
the  letter  to  him  that  I  have  written  to-day.' ' 

"  Have  you  written   a  letter,  to-day,  my  child  ?  " 

"  I  have,  mother,  and  the  writing  of  it  has  made 
me  happy,  although  it  was  the  most  self-denying  act 
of  my  life.  Clara  has  told  me,  more  than  once,  that  I 
would  not  feel  right  until  I  resolved  to  confess  to 
Raymond  that  I  felt  I  had  done  wrong  in  sending  that 
letter  to  him,  which  Miss  Benson  read  a  copy  of,  when 
she  spent  the  day  here.  How  strange  that  she  should 
have  got  hold  of  that  letter,  when  she  was  so  many 
hundred  miles  off  from  any  of  us,  too.  I  believe  this 
was  wisely  ordered,  for  I  never  could  have  known 
how  hateful  that  letter  must  have  seemed  to  Ray- 
mond, had  I  not  heard  it  read  by  Aunt  Amey.  I  had 
not  courage  to  stay  in  sight  of  any  of  the  family, 
while  that  letter  was  being  read,  or  to  appear  again, 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  335 


am 


after   the  reading;  of  it  was  concluded.     Still,   I 
glad  now  that  it  was  brought  here,  notwithstanding,  I 
have  suffered  much,  in  consequence." 

The  change  in  Bessie  was  lasting,  and  it  was 
a  source  of°comfort  to  all  her  family.  Albert  and 
Willie  watched  narrowly  for  her  halting ;  but  they 
were  obliged  to  confess  that  their  sister  was  influ- 
enced by  something  higher  than  mere  impulse,  as  time 
passed  on,  and  they  respected  her  greatly.  Only  a 
few  months  have  passed  since  that  time,  it  is  true ; 
but  the  sincerity  of  the  change  in  Bessie's  motives, 
has  been  tested  more  than  once,  during  that  short 
period.  Her  conflict  with  wrong  is  continual,  yet  it 
is  not  agonizing,  as  at  the  first. 

From  the  moment  shejesolved  to  do  right  at  all 
hazards,  a  work  commenced  in  Bessie's  soul,  which,  it 
is  believed,  will  never  cease,  until  her  purified  soul 
takes  its  place  among  the  ransomed  millions  around 
the  throne  of  God.  It  was  not  long  after  Bessie  be- 
ffan  to  realize  that  «  it  is  not  all  of  life  to  live,"  before 
the  tidings  reached  Raymond,  in  a  letter  written  by 
his  mother.  Bessie  sent  a  sympathizing  message  to 
him  in  the  missive,  which  gave  him  great  pleasure. 
He  was  suffering  at  the  time  he  received  his  mother  s 
letter  and  it  was  an  unexpected  solace  to  him.  Bes- 
sie had  expressed  a  desire  that  he  might  soon  be  ex- 
changed, and  return  home. 

«  She  must  view  things  differently,  else  she  would 
not  send  me  this  message,  I  am  sure,  and  now  I  can 
hope,  she  will  yet  be  the  solace  of  my  life."  Ray- 
mond's heart  felt  relieved  of  a  great  burden,  when  he 
read  this  missive,  and  he  presented   an   ejaculatory 


336  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

thank-offering  to  his  heavenly  Father,  for  this  mercy 
which  had  been  vouchsafed  to  him.  He  was,  soon 
after  this,  able  to  write  himself,  and  he  penned  a  short, 
but  kind  letter  to  Bessie. 

This  missive  was  not  long  ;  he  could  not  say  all  he 
wished  to,  either  to  his  mother  or  Bessie  ;  still,  the 
latter  felt  that  she  was  restored  to  that  place  in  the 
affections  of  Raymond,  which  she  had  forfeited  by  her 
unreasonable  jealousy.  Many  tears  were  shed  by  her 
during  its  perusal,  yet  they  flowed  from  a  purer 
source  than  had  those  she  had  shed  in  days  gone  by. 
Her  thoughts  were  not  at  this  time  concentrated  upon 
herself,  as  they  had  been  wont  to  be.  Self  was  well- 
nigh  forgotten,  in  the  interest  she  felt  for  Raymond 
and  his  companions,  who  wgre  suffering  such  depriva- 
tions, for  the  sake  of  upholding  our  Government. 

One  sentiment  expressed  in  Raymond's  missive  to 
her,  was  much  in  her  mind.  It  was  this  :  "If  our 
country  was  worth  our  efforts  to  save  it,  two  years 
ago,  it  is  thrice  worthy  of  all  we  can  do  and  suffer 
for  it  now.  Don't/'  he  continued,  "think  I  regret 
what  little  I  have  done  ;  I  am  ready,  still,  to  do  all 
in  my  power  for  the  Union.  Perhaps  I  said  too 
much  when  in  prison,  in  missives,  to  allow  me  to  hope 
for  the  safe  passage  of  my  letters,  some  of  which  failed 
to  reach  home ;  but  somehow  it  is  not  easy  for  me  to 
be  non-committal,  On  any  occasion." 

Raymond  then  entreated  Bessie  to  remember  the 
brave  boys  who  were  confined  with  him.  "  None  can 
be  too  grateful  to  these  men,  who  have  foregone  every- 
thing desirable,  to  help  save  the  blessings  of  freedom 
for  us.     Think  of  them,  when  you,  with  my  mother, 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  337 

prepare  another  box  for  me.  Don't  forget  that  the 
well-being-  of  the  loyal  soldier  should  be  the  interest 
of  all. " 

Raymond  did  not  need  to  repeat  his  request  that 
his  companions  in  suffering-  should  be  kindly  remem- 
bered. Bessie  devoted  much  of  her  time,  after  this,  to 
providing  comforts  for  the  gallant  men  who  had  nobly 
fought  for  our  flag.  Sometimes  she  felt  a  blush  suf- 
fuse her  cheek,  when  she  thought  of  the  very  many 
precious  hours  she  had  squandered  in  the  indulgence 
of  selfish  repinings. 

"  How  foolishly  I  have  acted,  and  wickedly  too," 
said  she  to  her  mother  one  day  ;  "how  much  good  1 
might  have  done  when  I  was  cherishing  unhappy  feel- 
ings, and  forgetting,  in  my  sinful  moodiness,  every- 
thing that  was  right.  I  ought  to  do  more  than  others 
for  the  defenders  of  our  land  now,  because  I  have  ne^'- 
lected  my  duty  towards  them  so  long.  Now,  if  Mrs. 
Sedgwick  would  come  home,  we  should  be  happy  to- 
gether. I  used  to  think,  she  was  a  fanatic  ;  but  now 
I  see  that  there  is  a  vast  difference  between  Christian 
duty,  and  fanaticism.  A  Christian  must  think  of  his 
fellow-beings  ;  I  have  learned  this  fact  from  experi- 
ence, yet  I  used  to  think,  because  they  were  not  per- 
fect, that  all  the  disinterested  efforts  they  made  were 
put  forth  for  the  sake  of  praise." 

"  I  remember  you  used  to  say  this,  often,"  said  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  "  and  now,  daughter,"  continued  that  lady, 
"  you  must  be  prepared  to  be  judged  by  some,  as  you 
have  judged  others.  There  are  some  people,  who  are 
unwilling  to  believe  there  is  any  such  thing  as  disin- 
terestedness in  this  world." 
29 


338  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Let  us  try,  Bessie,  to  prove  by  our  lives,  that  these 
people  are  mistaken,"  said  Clara. 

"  I  am  willing  to  try,  cousin,  but  I  fear  that  my 
working  for  the  men  in  our  army,  will  not  go  very  far 
to  prove  my  unselfishness,  since  I  cannot  feel  that  I 
am  not  gratifying  my  own  feelings,  in  all  I  do  for 
them." 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  339 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

11  She  hath  put  on 
Courage,  and  faith,  and  generous  constancy, 
Even  as  a  breastplate.  Mns.  HEMANS. 

"Xo  studied  words  of  sympathy 
Were  coldly  whispered  round." 

Would  that  the  sufferings  of  the  noble  band  of  loyal 
soldiers  at  Annapolis  was  an  exception  to  the  general 
order  of  things,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing. 
But  alas  !  they  were  only  a  few  among  the  many 
thousands  who  have  fought  and  bled  for  our  country's 
weal.  And  shall  it  be  that  the  blood  of  these  gallant 
men  has  been  shed  in  vain  ?  No,  never  shall  it  be  said 
that  there  was  n#t  love  of  country  in  America,  suffi- 
cient to  save  her  noble  institutions  from  destruction, 
at  the  hands  of  traitors.  We  have  brave  men,  and 
women  too,  in  our  land,  who  will  never  cease  to  labor 
and  pray,  until  the  United  States  of  America  shall  be- 
come a  happy  and  a  prosperous  land.  More  happy 
and  more  prosperous  than  before  the  dark  cloud  of 
treacherous  ambition  darkened  the  Southern  horizon 
of  this  once  bright  land. 

But  we  must  remember  that  our  readers  are  looking 
for  incidents,  and  will  not  care  to  read  our  sentiments. 

Among  the  brave  boys  who  fought  and  fell  wounded 
at  Gettysburg,  was  a  young  man,  a  mere  3routh,  who 
volunteered  soon  after  the  war  began.  His  name  was 
Lucien  Brown,  an  only  son  was  he,  and  one  greatly 
beloved,   by  the  fondest  of  parents.     This   youth  be- 


340  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

longed  to  a  Pennsylvania  regiment,  which  did  duty 
bravely  on  the  memorable  day  of  that  battle,  which 
convinced  General  Lee  that  he  had  greatly  mistaken 
Yankee  character,  when  he  presumed  to  set  his  hostile 
foot  north  of  Virginia. 

Near  the  close  of  the  battle,  Lucien  received  a  mus- 
ket shot  in  his  arm.  At  first,  the  wounded  limb  was 
so  benumbed  that  he  did  not  realize  that  he  was  much 
hurt ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  he  felt  his  strength 
failing,  and  he  sought  a  place  of  safety  and  laid  himself 
down,  after  making  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  stop  the 
life-current  which  was  constantly  oozing  from  his 
wound. 

"  Must  I  die  here,  alone  and  uncared  for  ?  "  thought 
this  young  man.  Then  thoughts  of  home,  friends,  and 
the  many  comforts  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed 
in  that  far-off  home  filled  his  mind.  "  If  I  die  here, 
my  mother,  perhaps,  will  never  know  what  has  be- 
come of  me,  and  I  fear  she  will  be  tempted  to  feel  that 
the  sacrifice  she  has  made  for  her  country  is  too  great. 
I  would  not  have  her  feel  thus  ;  I  would  so  love  to  live, 
that  in  future  years  she  may  exult  in  the  thought  that 
she  has  a  patriot  son.  Our  boys  have  fought  bravely 
to-day,  but  0,  how  many  noble  men  have  fallen. 
Shall  I  be  reported  among  them  ?  I  hope  not,  yet  fear 
I  must  be." 

Thoughts  like  these  filled  his  mind  until  his  great 
weakness  induced  a  feeling  of  drowsiness  from  which 
he  was  aroused  by  a  fellow-soldier,  who  bent  over 
him  to  ascertain  his  condition. 

"  You  are  wounded,  and  must  not  lie  here,  bleeding 
to  death.  It  is  well  I  came  this  way,  for  you  would 
take  your  last  nap  pretty  soon,  if  you    should   not 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  341 

have  something  done  for  you.  I  must  staunch  this 
blood,  if  I  can/'  continued  this  stranger  friend,  and  he 
took  his  handkerchief  as  he  spoke  and  bound  up  the 
wounded  arm. 

"  There  is  a  musket-ball,  besides  any  amount  of 
your  coat-sleeve  in  the  wound,  but  I  can  do  no  more 
for  you  here  ;  and  as  you  are  not  a  very  large  chap,  I 
can  tote  you  to  yonder  house,  where  you  can  have  a 
doctor.  I  am  right  glad  I  came  this  way,  for  you  are 
worth  saving,  I  know.  I  have  noticed  you  in  the 
ranks  to-day,  and  we  can't  let  you  cave  in,  yet. 
Heave  0,'"'  said  the  jolly  stranger,  as  he  tenderly  raised 
the  bleeding  youth  in  his  brawny  arms.  "  I'll  not 
let  you  fall  ;  don't  be  afraid  ;  I've  carried  greater 
weights  than  this,  many  a  time." 

Lucien's  heart  was  touched  with  the  kindness  he 
had  so  unexpectedly  received  from  this  rough-looking 
stranger.  He  felt  that  he  was  to  be  trusted,  and  he 
rested  his  weary  head  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  strange 
man,  without  a  fear.  On  arriving  at  the  door  of  a 
house  in  the  vicinity  of  the  battle-field,  this  man 
stopped,  and  seeing  through  the  open  door  a  woman 
sitting  at  work,  he  entered  the  house  and  asked  per- 
mission to  lay  the  young  man  upon  a  bed. 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  the  lady,  who  went  before 
him  to.  a  sleeping-room  upon  the  first  floor  of  the 
house.  The  feeling  man  laid  down  his  burden  tender- 
ly, and  ran  immediately  to  call  a  surgeon  to  dress  the 
wound  of  the  young  man.  The  lady,  who  seemed 
to  Lucien  to  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  his  mother, 
approached  the  bed  and  bent  over  the  sufferer  with  a 
look  of  pity  mingled  with  intense  interest.  Her  eye 
met  his,  as  she  removed  with  gentle  hands  his  clothes, 
29* 


342  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

which  were  saturated  with  blood,  and  he  thought  he 
read  unusual  feeling  in  its  expression.  The  surgeon 
soon  came,  and  looked  at  Lucien's  wounded  limb  ; 
with  him,  also,  came  the  good  soldier  whose  efforts 
had  probably  preserved  this  youth  from  an  untimely 
death. 

"  Surgeon,"  said  this  man,  "  there  is  a  ball  in  that 
arm,  and  pieces  of  coat-sleeve  beside." 

"So  I  perceive,"  replied  the  surgeon,  who  has- 
tened to  stay  the  effusion  of  blood  which  was  fast 
prostrating  the  strength  of  the  youthful  soldier. 
-Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken,  while  the  wound  was 
receiving  attention,  for  an  almost  breathless  anxiety 
was  felt  by  each  one  who  gazed  upon  the  pallid  fea- 
tures of  the  young  man.  He  was  then  made  as  com- 
fortable as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances  he 
could  be,  and  left  alone  for  a  time  to  rest.  Many  in- 
quiries were  made  respecting  the  patient,  of  this  man, 
by  his  surgeon  and  hostess,  as  they  all  met  together 
in  an  adjoining  apartment,  after  they  had  done  what 
they  might  for  the  stranger,  at  that  time. 

"  He  's  a  plucky  boy,"  said  the  friendly  soldier.  "  I 
noticed  him  in  the  fight  to-day,  and  he  bore  his  part 
without  flinching.  I  didn't  see  him  fall,  but  I  missed 
him  on  the  field  with  some  others  who  I  felt  an 
especial  interest  for ;  I  was  looking  for  a  cousin  of 
mine,  whose  mother  I  had  promised  that  I  would  do 
all  in  my  power  for  her  son,  when  I  came  upon  this 
case.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  pass  this  gallant  boy  by  ; 
bat  I  must  hurry  off  now,  and  search  for  the  one'  I 
have  n't  found.  I  shall  try  to  see  this  brave  fellow 
again,  and  1  suppose  I  needn't  ask  you,  madam,  to 
be  kind  to  him,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  hostess 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  343 

"  for  I  sec  an  expression  of  kind  feeling  in  your  coun- 
tenance, that  assures  me  he  will  be  cared  for  while  he 
remains  with  you." 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  this  good  woman,  as  she  as- 
sured the  man  he  had  conjectured  rightly,  regarding 
her  feelings  towards  the  soldier.  "  Any  loyal  soldier 
would  find  a  warm  welcome  under  this  roof.  I  should 
not  be  true  to  myself,  if  I  refused  to  nurse  kindly  any 
brave  man  who  has  been  wounded  while  defending  my 
country  ;  but  I  feel  that  this  young  stranger  may  have 
even  a  stronger  claim  upon  my  sympathy  than  others. 
He  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  a  sister  of  mine, 
whom  I  have  not  seen  for  many  years  ;  I  am  anxious 
to  learn  his  name  on  this  account.  Can  you  tell  me 
what  it  is  ?  "  asked  she,  addressing  the  soldier. 

"  1  cannot,  madam  ;  but  we  will  find  out  by-and-by, 
I  hope,"  said  the  noble  man  ;  then  bade  both  the  lady 
and  surgeon  "  good  day." 

The  surgeon  looked  in  again,  upon  Lucien,  and  then 
went  to  administer  relief  to  other  sufferers,  for  the 
number  of  such  was  large,  on  that  eventful  day. 

The  house  to  which  Lucien  Brown  had  been  admit- 
ted was  not  the  only  one  to  which  the  wounded  loyal 
men  and  sometimes  Rebels  also  had  been  borne,  shel- 
tered, and  cared  for  kindly,  at  the  time  alluded  to. 
Long  will  the  hospitality  of  many  a  worthy  farmer 
and  his  wife,  in  the  vicinity  of  Gettysburg,  be  remem- 
bered with  gratitude,  by  the  sufferers  who  received 
their  ministrations  in  those  days  of  their  helplessness. 
Many  then  found  it  blessed  to  be  cared  for,  when  the}7 
were  far  from  home  and  friends  ;  but  those  who  opened 
their  homes  and  hearts,  to  comfort  the  distressed, 
found  by  experience  that  it  is  "  more  blessed  to    give 


344  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

Mrs.  Harvey,  the  lady  who  had  so  kindly  welcomed 
Lucien,  did  not  feel  that  she  had  done  all  her  duty, 
when  she  had  given  this  youth  an  asylum  in  his  hour 
of  need.  She  would  do  for  others,  also,  and  she  was 
not  satisfied,  until  she  had  sent  every  comfort  her 
house  afforded,  to  the  sick  and  wounded  whom  she 
could  reach.  She  watched  over  her  suffering  guest 
with  the  greatest  assiduity  ;  much  did  she  long  to 
have  him  able  to  converse,  for  the  image  of  her  absent 
sister,  came  ever  to  her  mind  when  she  looked  upon 
the  young  man. 

"  I  have  done  very  wrong,"  said  this  lady,  men- 
tally, as  she  sat  scanning  the  features  of  the  youth, 
who  was  lying  almost  bloodless  before  her.  "  I  have 
done  wrong,  in  not  keeping  up  a  correspondence  with 
my  sister,  for  I  might  have  improved  some  moments 
by  writing,  when  I  have  felt  too  weary  to  work,  even 
if  I  did  not  love  to  write.  However,  if  this  youth  is 
spared  to  make  known  his  name,  if  I  am  disappointed 
in  regard  to  his  being  my  sister's  son,  I  will  write  to 
Martha,  and  try  to  find  out  if  her  son  is  in  the  army  ; 
for  it  must  be  that  some  of  her  family  have  taken  up 
arms  to  help  the  Government.  She  is  as  patriotic  as 
myself,  if  not  more  so  ;  yet  she  does  not  love  to  write, 
and  has  so  many  cares,  that  she  may  find  it  difficult 
to  answer  my  letter.  Poor  boy/'  exclaimed  the 
good  woman,  after  she  had  sat  some  time,  busy  with 
her  thoughts  regarding  him,  "I  wish  I  knew  your 
name." 

A  smile  lighted  up  the  features  of  the  patient,  and 
he  opened  his  eyes  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  "  You 
have  been  sleeping,"  remarked  his  hostess  :  "I  hope 
you  feel  somewhat  refreshed  by  your  nap.     Here  is 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  345 

some  porridge  which  you  must  drink,  before  you  talk 
any,"  said  she  pleasantly,  "and  then  I  expect  you 
to  tell  me  the  name  of  your  mother." 

"  My  mother's  name  is  Brown,  and  she  looks  near 
enough  like  yourself,  to  be  your  sister,"  said  the 
youth  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  I  have  a  sister  named  Brown,"  replied  the  other, 
with  an  animated  look  at  the  face  of  Lucien  ;  "  and 
you  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  her  ;  so  strong,  that 
I  have  thought  it  possible,  you  were  her  own  son.  Is 
your  mother's  name  Martha '(  "  inquired  the  lady. 

It  is  ;  and  I  have  heard  her  say  she  had  a  sister  in 
this  State,  whom  she  has  long  tried  to  visit,  but  cir- 
cumstances for  a  long  time  have  prevented  her." 

"  Is  your  name  Lucien  ?  " 

"It is,"  was  the  reply. 

The  youth  then  mentioned  several  little  circum- 
stances, which  convinced  Mrs.  Harvey  that  it  was 
indeed  the  son  of  her  sister,  who  had  been  provi- 
dentially brought  to  her  dwelling. 

"lam  very  glad  that  you  have  been  brought  to  my 
home,  Lucien,"  remarked  the  aunt. 

"  So  am  I,  aunt ;  yet  it  seemed  very  unlikely,  a  short 
time  since,  that  I  should  ever  visit  you,  much  less 
come  to  your  house,  so  weak  and  helpless  as  I  now 
find  myself.  But  where  is  that  noble  man  who  brought 
me  here  ?  I  want  to  thank  him  for  my  preserva- 
tion." 

Mrs.  Harvey  told  Lucien  that  the  stranger  had 
promised  to  call  again  to  see  him,  if  he  could.  She 
also  told  him  what  the  soldier  had  said  concerning 

.himself. 

"  How  strange  to  hear  any  soldier  praised  for  doing 


346  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

what  he  came  into  the  army  with  the  expectation  of 
doing.  I  feel  ashamed,  for  my.  part,  of  such  men  as 
shirk  their  duty.  At  such  a  time  as  this,  one  ought 
to  do  all  in  his  power,  without  a  thought  of  self- 
interest.'7 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  the  army,  Lucien  ?  " 

"  Not  but  a  few  months;  I  was  too  young,  when 
the  war  began.  I  was  not  glad  to  have  it  continue, 
until  my  age  would  admit  of  my  enlisting  ;  still,  as  it 
has  lasted  so  long,  I  am  glad  1  had  an  opportunity  to 
shed  some  of  my  blood,  for  the  sake  of  sustaining  the 
right.  General  Lee  wont  be  in  a  hurry  to  attack  us 
again,  I  fancy ;  but  I  shall  feel  vexed,  if  our  generals 
allow  these  Southrons  to  get  back  into  Virginia.  It 
will  not  be  the  fault  of  the  men,  but  the  officers,  if 
they  do  return.7' 

Mrs.  Harvey  joined  heartily  in  the  wish  her  nephew 
had  expressed  in  regard  to  the  Rebel  general,  and  then 
cautioned  him  against  exerting  himself  to  converse 
more,  until  he  should  be  better  able.  She  wrote  on 
that  evening  to  her  sister,  acquainting  her  with  the 
circumstances  which  had  brought  'Lucien  to  her 
home. 

"  Does  it  not  seem  strange,  my  dear  sister,"  wrote 
Mrs.  Harvey,  "that  we  should  have  waited  for  this 
war  to  come  with  all  its  horrors,  ere  we  could  find  the 
opportunity  to  write  to  each  other  ?  What  an  edu- 
cator is  this  terrible  struggle  of  ours,  for  the  nation's 
existence.  I  feel  that  my  thoughts  arc  oftener  drawn 
from  my  personal  cares,  than  ever  before.  My  personal 
interest  seems  swallowed  up  in  the  one  great  interest 
of  our  country.  I  need  not  ask  you  to  find  the  way  to, 
my  home,  now,  since  I  have  one  of  your  treasures 


BESSIE    AND    HAY  MONO.  347 

here  ;  I  had  almost  said  in  possession,  yet  this  is 
altogether  too  much  to  say,  as  he  belongs  to  the  Gov- 
ernment, and  is  at  the  disposal  of  the  powers  that  be. 
If  you  hasten  here,  you  will  probably  have  the  privi- 
lege of  visiting  your  son  and  sister  together." 

The  above  is  an  extract  from  the  long  letter  which 
Mrs.  Harvtey  penned  on  the  evening  of  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  day  which  we  have  so  often  referred  to  ere 
this.  She  found  she  could  not  only  jind  time  to  write,  but 
that  she  had  written  quite  a  lengthy  epistle,  ere  she  was 
aware  of  doing  so.  When  her  letter  was  finished,  she 
said  mentally,  "How  true  it  is  that  no  one  knows  what 
they  can  do,  until  they  put  forth  an  effort.  Here,  I 
have  quite  surprised  myself,  by  writing  this  letter  so 
easily,  and  in  so  short  a  space  of  tirrfe.  It  must  be, 
because  my  heart  was  in  the  work ;  that  makes  a  great 
difference,  truly." 

Mrs.  Harvey's  sister  received  this  missive,  which 
was  despatched  to  the  post-office,  as  soon  as  written, 
and  answered  it  in  person  in  less  than  three  days  from 
the  time  it  was  written.  The  meeting  of  these  long- 
parted  sisters  would  have  been  joyful  in  the  extreme, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  precarious  situation  in  which  the 
son  of  the  eldest  sister  was  placed.  As  it  was,  however, 
their  coming  together  was  pleasant,  and  the  manner 
in  which  it  had  been  brought  about  was  by  them  felt 
to  be  providential. 

"  It  was  not  a  great  journey  I  had  to  accomplish  in 
order  to  get  to  your  home,  sister  ;  the  distance  from 
Portland  to  Gettysburg  is  not  so  great  as  I  had  im- 
agined, and  I  wonder  that  I  have  so  long  dreaded  to 
set  out  to  travel  it." 

"  How  true  it  is,  that  we  need  a  great  deal  of  mo- 


348  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

tive  power,  to  make  us  act,"  remarked  Mrs.  Harvey; 
"yet  it  is  true,  that  we  need  to  be  impelled  along  in 
the  path  of  duty ;  but  now  as  we  have  met,  and  our 
interests  are  somewhat  blended  into  each  other  by  the 
condition  of  our  land,  I  trust  we  shall  not  be  parted 
for  so  many  years  again,  as  we  have  been." 

The  wound  of  Lucien  healed  rapidly  after  the  ball 
was  extracted,  and  the  pieces  of  blouse  sleeve,  which 
the  bullet  had  taken  in  its  way  into  the  very  depths 
of  the  wound,  had  also  been  removed. 

Lucien  was  allowed  to  remain  some  little  time  at 
the  house  of  his  aunt,  and  was  so  far  recovered  "before 
going  to  the  hospital,  that  he  could  walk  about  com- 
fortably. Returning  one  day  from  one  of  his  short 
excursions  in  the  open  air,  he  brought  news  to  his 
aunt  and  mother,  of  the  capture  of  one  of  his  cousins, 
by  some  of  the  loyal  troops. 

"  I  wonder  if  this  can  be  true,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Harvey  ;  "I  had  hoped  that  all  our  friends  were  loyal, 
and  shall  be  pained  to  be  obliged  to  blush  for  any  of 
our  family,  who  have  dared  to  assail  our  Govern- 
ment." 

"  But  Richard  may  have  been  conscripted,  aunt, 
and  that  would  alter  the  case  considerably,"  said 
Lucien. 

"  That  is  very  true;  and  what  you  have  said,  Lu- 
cien, reminds  me  of  the  panic  which  the  draft  has 
created,  in  several  places  where  we  have  friends  re- 
siding." 

"  Has  any  one  dear  to  you,  sister,  been  obliged  to  go 
to  the  war  against  his  will?"  asked  the  mother  of 
Lucien. 

"  No  ;  those  who  were  able  to  go,  who  were  most 


13ESSIB   AND  RAYMOND.  349 

dear  to  me,  I  am  happy  to  say,  lofod  their  country 
too  well  to  wait  to  be  drafted,  ere  they  marchod  to 
drive  back  the  foe.  But  there  have  some  incidents 
occurred  in  consequence  of  the  draft,  which  are  really 
worth  remembering ;  one  I  think  of  now,  which  I  must 
relate,  as  it  will  interest  you  greatly." 
30 


350  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND, 


CHAPTER  XL VI. 


u  And  who  art  thou,  that,  in  the  littleness 
Of  thine  own  selfish  purpose,  would'st  set  bounds 
To  the  free  current  of  all  noble  thought, 
And  geuerous  action,  bidding  its  bright  waves 
Be  stayed,  and  flow  no  farther  ?"  — Mrs.  He^ians. 


"Are  you  afraid  of  the  draft?"  was  a  question 
asked  me,  said  Mrs.  Harvey,  by  an  acquaintance, 
whose  name  I  need  not  mention,  the  very  day  on 
which  drafting  was  first  commenced  in  any  of  the  loyal 
States. 

"  Afraid  of  the  draft  ?  No,  indeed.  Why  should  I 
be  afraid  of  it  ?     I  asked  in  reply." 

"  Don't  you  care  if  your  friends  are  obliged  to  go 
to  the  war  ?  asked  this  lady." 

"Yes,  I  care  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  am  very, 
very  sorry,  that  there  is  any  necessity  for  a  draft  to  be 
made.  It  does  not  speak  well  for  the  patriotism  of 
some  of  our  able-bodied  men." 

"  But  it  '&  too  bad,  I  think,  for  a  man  to  go  against 
his  will." 

"  In  one  respect,  it  is,  certainly,"  I  answered  ;  "it 
is  bad  for  the  Government ;  for  men  who  have  no 
heart  in  their  work,  generally  fail  to  accomplish 
much." 

"You  are  altogether  too  ultra  in  your  views,  Mrs. 
Harvey,"  exclaimed  this  lady,  in  a  deprecating  tone. 

"  All  the  wives  and  mothers  don't  feel  as  you  do, 
in  regard  to  their  friends  going  forth  to  fight." 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  351 

"  I  wish  all  had  more  love  of  country  than  I  have," 
said  I. 

"  But  have  n't  you  any  feeling  for  those  who  go  forth 
to  battle?  "  asked  she. 

"  I  believe  I  have  a  great  deal  of  feeling,  for  all  who 
have  entered  the  Union  service." 

"  Then  I  desire  to  know  how  you  can  be  so  willing 
to  let  your  friends  go  and  meet  the  enemies  of  our 
land." 

•  "  I  would  not,"  I  said  to  this  mother,  "  urge  a 
friend  to  go  into  the  army  ;  I  have  never  done  so  ; 
yet  I  should  not  dare  lay  any  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  their  going,  if  they  felt  it  to  be  their  duty,  or  if  they 
were  merely  prompted  by  inclination,  to  enlist." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  you  can  do  as  you  like,  and  so 
will  I,  for  our  country  is  free  yet.  So  I'll  have  my 
son  commute  if  he  is  drafted,  and  be  sure  of  having 
him  with  or  near  me,  while  you  trust  yours  to  the 
mercy  of  foes  who  salute  them  with  shot  and 
shell.  I  believe,"  she  continued,  without  giving 
me  an  opportunity  to  speak,  "that  some  of  the  wo- 
men in  our  country  have  taken  leave  of  their  senses, 
that  is,  if  they  ever  had  any.  Just  look  at  that  wo- 
man, whose  son,  to  pay  a  wager  he  lost  in  betting, 
previous  to  the  election  of  President  Lincoln,  walked 
in  ten  consecutive  days,  from  the  State  House  in  Bos- 
ton, to  the  Capitol  at  Washington." 

"  I  don't  know  this  person  ;  what  do  you  know  of 
her?"   I  replied. 

"  Why,  that  she  made  herself  sick  over  what  she 
termed  his  folly,  in  being  smart  enough  to  fulfil  his  wa- 
ger, and  yet,  as  soon  as  this  war  broke  out,  this  very  son, 
towards  whom  she  was  feeling  so  tender  a  few  weeks 


352  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

before,  had  her  sympathy  and  all  the  aid  she  could  af- 
ford him,-  in  taking  up  arms  and  going  into  the  very 
hot-bed  of  riot  and  secession,  and  nobody  ever  heard 
of  her  worrying  herself  sick,  because  he  was  exposed 
to  peril  in  the  army.  Even  worse  than  that  she  has 
done  ;  she  long  since  consented  that  her  youngest  and 
only  remaining  son  should  enter  the  navy.  This, 
she  thinks,  is  all  as  it  should  be,  and  she  don't  ap- 
pear to  be  very  much  concerned  about  him,  or  about 
another  member  of  her  family,  who  is  very  near,  and 
whose  seat  has  been  made  vacant  for  two  long  years 
at  the  table  where  she  was  wont  to  sit  with  him  at 
every  meal.  I  have  heard  folks  who  know  her,  talk 
about  her  inconsistency.  Why,  it  is  said,  she  lost 
nearly  all  the  flesh  there  was  on  her  bones,  when  her 
son  was  taking  this  walk  ;  yet  her  health  does  n't  suf- 
fer at  all,  now,  on  account  of  her  anxiety.  I  confess, 
I  don't  understand  such  notions.  I  would  rather  my 
boy  should  walk  as  many  hundred  miles  as  he  chose, 
than  enter  the  army,  and  be  obliged  to  march  at  the 
order  of  others,  and  afterwards  meet  the  foe,  and  per- 
haps death,  at  his  hands.  I'm  consistent,  at  any  rate, 
and  that's  more  than  can  be  said  of  many  a  woman  ; 
for  instance,  that  one  I  have  told  you  about." 

Here  my  friend  paused,  and  I  could  not  but  give 
her  my  idea  of  the  inconsistency  of  the  mother  of  the 
pedestrian  whose  case  she  had  mentioned. 

"  I  do  not  see  any  want  of  feeling  in  this  mother, 
to  whom  you  have  referred,  because  she  can  cheerful- 
ly give  up  her  dear  ones  to  go  to  the  war,  and  yet, 
could  not  bear  to  feel  that  a  loved  son  was  using  his 
energies  to  no  better  purpose  than  to  pay  a  lost  wager. 
I  think  I  understand  her  feelings,  and  I  sympathize 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  353 

with  them,  too.  She  can  feel,  when  her  loved  ones  are 
in  their  country's  service,  that  they  are  doing  right, 
therefore  she  can  commend  them  in  prayer  to  that  holy 
Being  who  is  Omnipotent  to  protect  them  in  all  places, 
and  who  will  preserve  them  alive,  until  their  work  on 
earth  is  done.  But  when  a  son  was  outraging  the 
laws  of  nature  unnecessarily,  and  by  performing  this 
walking  feat,  desecrating  two  Sabbath  days,  she  could 
not  feel  the  same  confidence  in  commending  him  to  the 
care  of  that  Father,  whom  she  felt  this  dear  son  was 
thoughtlessly  offending.  I  presume  this  mother  would 
tell  you,  if  you  should  ask  her,  that  her  feelings  have 
been  such  as  I  have  described,  and  such  as  many 
mothers  in  our  land  can  appreciate." 

u  Well,  I  like  what  I  can  see  with  my  natural  eyes, 
better  than  what  I  am  left  to  discern  by  faith.  I'll 
keep  my  boy  at  home,  and  be  sure  of  him." 

"  Poor  woman  ;  she  did  keep  her  son  under  her  own 
watch-care  ;  what  was  three  hundred  dollars  to  her, 
compared  with  the  privilege  of  taking  care  of  him, 
and  keeping  him  out  of  harm's  way.  She  could,  she 
said,  sell  her  sewing-machine,  and  some  of  her  nice 
clothes,  and  even  the  spoons  her  own  sainted  mother 
had  given  her,  years  before,  for  this  privilege,  if  his 
father  was  not  ready  to  advance  the  money.  She 
would  do  anything  to  keep  her  boy  out  of  danger,  and 
she  succeeded  in  having  him  commuted." 

''Where  is  this  youth,  now?"  asked  the  sister  of 
Mrs.  Harvey,  who  had  been  listening  with  much  in- 
terest to  this  narration. 

"He  is  not  to  be  found  among  the  living;  all  his 
mother's  anxiety  to  save  him,  could  not  preserve  him 
from  the  fell  destroyer,  Death.     She  did  indeed  keep 
30* 


351  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

him  near  her,  and  even  under  her  watchful  eye,  most 
of  the  time  ;  yet  alt  this  care  was  impotent  to  save 
from  death,  or  even  from  danger.  It  was  the  agoniz- 
ing' experience  of  this  fond  mother,  to  feel  her  own 
helplessness,  when  she  would  have  sacrificed  worlds, 
had  she  possessed  them,  to  save  her  darling  son.  She 
saw  him  thrown  from  a  carriage,  in  which  he  was  rid- 
ing, and  killed  instantly ;  she  saw,  too,  his  corpse, 
bruised  and  mangled,  borne  into  her  dwelling,  which 
he  had  left  but  a  few  minutes  previous  in  all  the 
strength  and  vivacity  of  early  manhood." 

M  What  has  it  availed  me  to  keep  him  at  home  ?  " 
cried  she,  in  all  the  agony  of  her  grief.  "It  could  n't 
have  been  much  worse,  had  he  gone  to  the  war.  0, 
I  wish  I  had  not  tried  so  hard  to  keep  him  at  home." 

"  This  is  not  a  solitary  case,"  remarked  the  auditor 
of  Mrs.  Harvey;  "I  have  heard  of.  others,  that  are 
similar.  I  well  know  a  mother,  whose  son  went  from 
a  city  in  Massachusetts,  to  Brooklyn,  and  enlisted  in 
the  navy.  This  mother  did  not  know  what  her  boy 
had  done,  until  he  had  been  absent  from  home  two 
days.  He  was  not  a  dutiful  son,  far  from  it ;  the 
heart  of  his  mother  had  often  been  made  to  bleed  by 
the  wicked  acts  he  had  committed  in  the  vicinity  of 
his  home. 

"  Yet  when  she  heard  that  this  bad  boy  was  where 
he  would  be  restrained,  and  kept  out  of  mischief,  for 
a  time  she  was  inconsolable,  until  she  went  to  the  re- 
ceiving ship,  where  he  was,  and  protested  against  his 
staying  there.  She  had  upwards  of  fifty  dollars  to 
pay  for  his  release,  and  she  took  him  home  with  her, 
to  pollute  the  rising  generation,  with  his  sinful  exam- 
ple and  influence,  as  he  had  previously  done.     Who 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


355 


dare  feel  that  this  weak  woman  will  not  regret,  a 
greater  number  of  times,  even,  than  she  has  paid  dol- 
lars for  his  release,  that  she  did  not  allow  him  to  re- 
main where  he  could  be  under  some  restraint,  for  a 
s.-ason.  The  friends  of  this  mother,  especially  those 
who  live  near  her  dwelling,  regret  already  the  return 
of  the  boy  to  the  home  where  he  has  ever  been  in- 
dulged to  his  hurt," 

"  I  wish  this  was  the  only  case  of  the  kind,  sister  ; 
but  I  fear  the  name  of  Such  cases  is  legion,  and  the 
mothers,  and  it  may  in  some  instances  be  said,  too, 
that  fathers  can  feel  quite  composed,  if  they  only  see 
their  sons,  if  they  are  exposed  to  the  vilest  of  influ- 
ences, in  grog  shops,  which,  at  this  hour,  arc  so  numer- 
ous in  our  land.  Such  parents  can  even  bear  to  see 
their  dearest  sons,  at  times,  stagger  into  their  homes, 
under  the  accursed  influence  of  intoxicating  drink." 

"Why  do  not  such  parents  open  their  eyes,  and 
look  about  them  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Harvey. 

"  I  don't  know  of  but  one  reason  why  they  do  not, 
and  that  is,  they  greatly  prefer  to  be  blind  to  the  evils, 
which,  at  their  very  doors,  are  threatening  to  engulph 
their  sons,  forever." 

-  Let  law  tolerate  and  protect  these  dens  of  death, 
moral  suasion  will  make  all  right,  some  time,"  say 
they  "  Boys  will  sow  their  wild  oats,  no  matter  if 
they  do  get  a  little  '  tight '  sometimes.  We  mustn't 
have  men  forced  to  do  right,  by  removing  temptation 
out  of  their  way.  This  notion  is  all  fanatical ;  we 
prefer  to  have  our  sons  manly,  and  take  a  glass  occa- 
sionally, without  a  feeling  of  restraint,  If  a  man  only 
pays  for  a  license,  he  can  hold  up  his  head,  and  put 
the  cup  to  his   neighbor's  lips,  if  God,  in  his  holy 


356  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Word,  does  say  he  is  cursed  for  doing  so.  He  has  hu- 
man law  on  his  side  ;  what  does  he  care  for  the  law  of 
God?" 

'•  What  you  say  is  but  too  true,  sister.  Intemper- 
ance is  killing  more  men  in  our  world,  than  the  sword. 
In  our  land,  it  is  doing  a  fearful  work.  Had  I  my 
choice,  I  should  greatly  prefer  to  have  those  dear  to 
me  slain  by  the  sword,  rather  than  by  the  demon  in- 
temperance. If  they  fall  honorably,  in  their  country's 
cause,  we  oft-times  have  hope  in  their  death.  But 
what  hope  can  we  entertain  concerning  the  inebriate, 
who  falls  a  victim  to  his  own  lusts  ?  God  says,  '  No 
drunkard  shall  enter  heaven  ; '  while  at  the  same  time, 
he  invites  even  the  vilest  to  turn  from  his  cups,  repent, 
and  be  saved  foreverrnore." 

Amen  we  say  to  this  ;  and  we  know  that  many 
voices  will  echo  a  loud  amen. 


BESSIE   AND  RAYMOND.  357 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 

"Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do; 
Not  light  them  for  themselves ;  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike, 
As  if  we  had  them  not."  — Shakespeare. 

"I  want  to  get  an  accurate  account  of  the  casual- 
ties in  the  neighborhood  of  Port  Hudson/7  said  Min- 
nie Granger  to  Mrs.  Sedgwick  the  younger,  who  was 
once  more  established  in  her  own  peaceful  home. 
This  was  said  soon  after  the  surrender  of  that  place, 
which  General  Banks  and  his  brave  boys  had  so  un- 
tiringly sought  to  subdue. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  soon  hear  something  reliable  about 
your  brother-in-law,  Minnie/7  replied  Mrs.  Sedgwick. 
"  I  saw  his  name  in  the  list  of  casualties,  yesterday, 
and  mention  was  made  of  his  having  been  slightly 
wounded.77 

"  Slightly  wounded,  sometimes  means  considerable 
of  a  wound/7  said  Minnie ;  "in  many  cases  these 
trifling  wounds  have  resulted  fatally  ;  therefore,  I  feel 
deeply  anxious  about  Joseph.77 

It  was  not  strange  that  Minnie  should  feel  great  so- 
licitude on  her  brother's  account.  It  was  July  ;  the 
weather  was  intensely  hot,  and  the  temperature  of  the 
climate  where  ha*was  situated  was  much  more  enervat- 
ing than  the  air  of  his  native  clime.  But  if  a  sister- 
in-law  felt  anxious,  how  much  more  so  must  have  felt 
the  wife,  who,  with  two  little  children,  had  been  left 
months  before  by  this  husband  and  father,  who  had 
gone  cheerfully  forth  from  his  home,  as  a  champion  of 
the  right. 


358  BESSIE    AXD    RAYMOND. 

Not  many  days  after  the  conversation  we  have  nar- 
rated, news  came  from  this  dear  object  of  affection  and 
hope  ;  but  such  news,  that  it  only  made  these  expect- 
ant hearts  more  sad  than  before.  The  letter  had  been 
penned  by  a  brother  officer,  who  stated  that  Joseph 
was  lying  very  low,  and  his  condition  was  considered, 
by  the  surgeon,  very  critical. 

"  I  must  go  to  him  without  delay/ '  said  the  wife. 

"  Certainly  you  must,  and  I  must  go  with  you,"  re- 
plied Minnie. 

"  But  who  can  we  leave  with  the  care  of  the  chil- 
dren, during  our  absence  ?  "  asked  the  afflicted  wife 
and  mother. 

"  I  don't  know  certainly,  but  I'm  inclined  to  think 
that  Bessie  Jenkins  will  consent  to  look  after  them, 
for  a  time.'' 

"  Bessie  Jenkins  look  after  my  children  !  you  aston- 
ish me.  Why,  I  thought  she  was  too  much  of  an  autom- 
aton, to  trouble  herself  with  doing  anything  useful." 

"  But  you  don't  know  how  she  has  changed  of  late. 
I  never  knew  any  one,  in  whom  a  change  for  the 
better,  was  so  visible,  as  it  is  in  her." 

"I  am  glad,  very  glad,  even  in  the  midst  of  my  sor- 
row, that  this  is  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Stetson,  the  sister 
of  Minnie. 

"You,  Minnie,  perhaps  had  better  see  her  at  once, 
and  secure,  if  you  can,  her  services;  tell  her,  she  will 
be  doing  a  good  work,  and  helping  4he  distressed." 

Minnie  hastened  to  the  home  of  Bessie,  and  found 
she  had  judged  her  rightly,  when  she  conjectured  that 
she  would  be  willing  to  assist  herself  and  sister,  by 
taking  the  supervision  of  the  children  of  the  latter. 

"I  will  do  so  with  pleasure  ;  I  am  glad  you  have 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  359 

asked  me,"  said  Bessie.  "  Can  I  not  do  something 
to  help  you  get  on  your  way  to-night  ?  for  you  must 
hasten.  I  will  go  with  you  to  your  home,  for  I  sup- 
pose your  sister  is  with  your  mother  now,  is  she 
not?" 

"Yes,  she  came  immediately  after  this  sad  news 
reached  her  ;  she  started  from  her  home,  thinking  I 
would  go  and  see  to  her  family  while  she  could  go  and 
see  to  Joseph.  But  my  anxiety  to  accompany  her  led 
me  to  propose  asking  you  to  stay  at  her  house  while 
we  both  should  go." 

This  conversation  took  place  while  these  two  young 
ladies  were  walking  hurriedly  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Granger.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  the  minds  of  Mrs. 
Granger  and  her  daughters,  to  feel  that  the  children 
could  be  left  in  their  own  home,  while  their  mother 
was  away  from  them  ;  and  a  most  unexpected  pleas- 
ure to  know  that  Bessie  Jenkins  could  cheerfully  ac- 
cept the  task  of  watching  over  them. 

"  Your  patience  will  be  tried,  no  doubt/'  said  Mrs. 
Stetson  to  her,  and  I  shall  feel  very  grateful  for  this 
great  kindness." 

"  Don't  speak  so,"  said  Bessie  ;  "I  have  lived  many 
years  without  looking  at  all  away  from  my  personal 
comfort,  to  do  anything  for  the  good  of  .others,  and  it 
is  a  comfort  to  me,  now,  to  be  able  to  do  even  a  little." 

"  It  is  not  a  little  thing  you  are  undertaking,  now, 
Bessie,"  said  Mrs.  Granger. 

11  Don't  talk  about  what  Jam  to  do,  now,  only  let 
us  do  what  we  can,  to  hasten  the  departure  of  your 
daughters.  I  feel  impatient  to  see  them  set  off  on  their 
journey,  for  every  hour  afterwards  will  bring  them 
nearer  to  Joseph,  and  I  know  something  of  their  feel- 
ings :  ut  least,  I  can  imagine  what  they  must  be." 


360  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

The  two  sisters  left  in  the  cars  that  same  evening, 
and  faithfully  did  Bessie  redeem  the  pledge  she  had 
given,  to  care  for  the  children  of  these  afflicted 
parents  ;  and  every  act  of  kindness  she  put  forth  was 
prompted  by  a  high  and  disinterested  motive. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is,"  thought  Bessie,  "  for  one  to 
feel  that  they  are  useful ;  and  then,  how  pleasant  it  will 
be,  to  have  Raymond  know  that  I  am  exerting  myself 
for  the  benefit  of  others.  Yet  it  is  not  to  please  him, 
merely,  that  I  love  to  do  what  is  right ;  I  trust  I  desire 
to  please  my  Saviour  more  than  I  do  to  please  even 
Raymond." 

With  such  reflections  as  these,  Bessie  pursued  her 
way  with  comfort,  not  only  to  herself,  but  to  those 
who  were  entrusted  to  her  care. 

In  the  mean  time,  our  travellers  had  sped  over  the 
long  distance  which  spread  itself  between  Oak  Dale 
and  the  vicinity  of  Port  Hudson  sooner  than  they  had 
feared,  and  found  themselves  in  safety  at  the  end  of 
their  journey.  The  hour  of  their  arrival  was  an  ex- 
citing one  to  the  wife  and  sister  of  Joseph  Stetson. 
Their  inquiries  for  him  were  fruitless  for  a  time,  but  at 
length  they  were  escorted,  by  one  of  the  hospital  stew- 
ards, to  the  bedside  of  the  sufferer.  How  changed  was 
he,  since  they  last  beheld  him  ;  his  eyes  were  closed, 
and  his  features  bore  the  impress  of  great  suffering, 
while  a  deathlike  pallor  spread  over  his  countenance. 

In  breathless  silence,  Minnie  and  her  sister  stood 
and  gazed  upon  what  appeared  to  them  as  but  the 
shadow  of  him  who  was  so  dear  to  them.  They  in- 
quired of  the  nurse,  who  was  a  kindly  man,  respecting 
the  symptoms  of  his  patient,  and  their  worst  fears  were 
confirmed  by  the  information  he   gave  them. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  oGl 

"  Will  lie  be  able  to  speak  to  us  ?  "  asked  the  sor- 
rowful wife. 

"  lie  may,  but  he  is  failing  rapidly,"  said  the  nurse, 
in  a  compassionate  tone. 

11  0,  I  hope  he  will  know  us,"  said  Minnie,  with  a 
quivering  lip,  while  tears  flowed  down  her  cheeks. 

An  expression  of  pain  flitted  across  the  face  of  the 
sufferer,  while  he  slowly  opened  his  eyes.  His  wife 
bent  over  him,  while  she  pressed  his  hand  tenderly  in 
both  her  own. 

"  Thank  God  you  have  come,  and  Minnie  too,"  he 
said,  as  he  glanced  his  eye  quickly  towards  the  weep- 
ing girl.  He  attempted  to  extend  his  hand  towards  . 
her,  and  she  took  it  and  held  it  for  some  minutes,  ere 
she  could  articulate  a  syllable.  For  a  moment  or  two 
this  husband  and  brother  was  overcome  with  emotion, 
yet  his  feelings  soon  became  calm,  and  he  smiled 
sweetly  upon  the  loved  ones  who,  he  said,  had  been 
mercifully  sent  to  cheer  his  last  hours. 

''But,  oh,"  said  Minnie,  "to  think  that,  after  you 
have  done  and  suffered  so  much  for  your  country, 
your  life  must  end  thus." 

Mrs.  Stetson  was  too  much  overpowered  with  grief 
to  speak,  but  she  regarded  her  husband  with  a  look  of 
unutterable  tenderness,  while  Minnie  gave  vent  to  the 
feelings  of  her  sorrowing  heart  in  the  words  quoted 
above. 

"  That  thought  is  not  distressing  to  me,  sister," 
said  the  patient  sufferer  ;  "  what  I  have  done  and 
suffered  is  but  little,  in  comparison  with  what  I  would 
like  to  have  done.  If  I  have  done  any  good  to  the 
cause  of  virtue  and  humanity,  which  I  feel  is  identi- 
fied with  the  Union  cause,  I  rejoice  at  the  thought. 
31 


362  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  •% 

I  would  love  to  live  longer,  for  the  sake  of  my  coun- 
try ;  yet  I  feel  that  God  can  work  without  me.  His 
own  right  hand  hath  gotten  Him  the  victory  here,  and 
I  would  that  He  should  use  just  the  instruments  He 
chooses  to  accomplish  His  purposes.  Don't,"  said 
this  noble  soldier,  after  a  pause  of  a  few  moments, 
"  don't  weep  ;  it  pains  me  much,  and  seems  to.  draw 
me  back  to  that  world  I  have  given  up.  I  love  you 
not  less,  but  I  love  my  God  more,  much  more  than 
ever  before,  and  more  even  than  my  dear  family.  To 
His  care,  I  commend  the  dear  friends  I  am  about  to 
leave." 

"  My  sweet  babes  He  will  preserve,  for  He  has 
promised  to  do  so,  and  his  word  is  sure  forever. 
You,  my  dear,  dear  Laura,  may  trust  in  Him,  if  you 
will  ;  do  promise  me,  that  you  will  not  grieve  for  me, 
overmuch,  when  I  am  gone.  You  may  weep,  but 
don't  indulge  in  grief,  as  some  do,  for  it  is  not  right." 
The  dying  husband  paused  many  times  while  uttering 
these  words,  which  were  some  of  the  last  he  was  to 
speak  to  the  friends  who  were  so  dear  to  him.  He 
lay  silent  for  some  time,  and' then  said,  "kiss  our 
little  ones  for  me,  and  tell  them,  when  they-  are  old 
enough,  it  was  the  wish  of  their  father  that  they 
should  love  God,  and  if  they  live  to  manhood,  love  and 
serve  their  country,  and  do  all  iu  their  power  to  make 
this  a  holy  and  a  prosperous  land." 

After  these  last  words  were  spoken,  the  sick  man 
seemed  to  fall  asleep.  His  eyes  closed  slowly,  and  he 
lay  motionless,  while  the  weeping  wife  and  sister  sat 
near  his  bedside,  watching  and  hoping  to  catch  a  few 
more  precious  words,  which  they  could  embalm  in  the 
casket  of  memory,  after  this  loved  one  should  be  gone 
from  earth. 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  3G3 

"  I  fear  he  will  not  speak  again/'  whispered  Mrs. 
Stetson,  while  tears  streamed  in  torrents  down  her 
cheeks.  "Yet  I  must  not  repine,  but  be  grateful  for 
the  privilege  of  hearing  him  speak  at  all." 

"lam  thankful  we  came  here,"  said  Minnie. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  patient  sufferer  opened  his 
eyes,  and  motioned  for  his  wife  to  draw  very  near  to 
him.  She  did  so,  and  placed  her  ear  close  to  his 
lips. 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  regret  that  I  became  a  sol- 
dier, Laura  ;  I  don't  regret  doing  so,  myself.  I  re- 
joice that  my  influence  has  been  exerted  on  the  side 
of  right,  and  I  hope  you  will  never  reflect  upon  your- 
self, for  consenting  to  my  leaving  you.  Try  to  be 
cheerful  and  encourage  others  to  trust  their  friends 
with  God,  and  not  hinder  them  from  doing  their  duty 
to  our  suffering  country." 

"  I  will  endeavor,  Joseph,  to  comply  with  all  your 
wishes  ;  but  how  can  I  do  without  you,  my  dear,  dear 
husband  ?  " 

"Look  to  Jesus,  and  he  will  give  you  strength. 
lie  has  done  all  for  me  ;  love  and  praise  him  ever- 
more." 

Again  he  paused,  as  he  had  done  before,  with  his 
eyes  closed,  while  a  sweet  expression  of  serenity  stole 
over  his  features.  After  he  had  laid  some  time,  ap- 
parently resting  in  sleep,  Minnie  bent  over  him  and 
placed  her  ear  near  his  mouth,  in  order  to  ascertain  if 
he  still  breathed. 

"  Tie  does  not  appear  to  respire  at  all,"  said  Minnie. 
She  then  placed  her  fingers  gently  upon  his  heart  and 
found  that  its  pulsations  had  ceased.  The  nurse  ap- 
proached the   bedside,   and  in  the  gentlest   possible 


364  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

manner  examined  his  patient,  and  found  that  his  spirit 
had  fled. 

"How  gently  he  passed  away  ;  this  change  came 
to  him  like  sleep  to  a  weary  infant/'  said  Minnie. 

"  He  was  a  noble  man,  and  a  lovely  Christian 
patriot,"  remarked  the  man,  who  had  kindly  cared  for 
this  soldier  since  his  admission  into  the  hospital. 

What  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  man,  in  these 
days  which  try  men's  souls,  and  develop  their  real 
characters.  We  would  rather  it  should  be  said  of  one 
dear  to  us,  "  he  was  a  lovely  Christian  patriot,"  than 
that  he  was  monarch  of  this  whole  world.  How  we 
hate  to  lose  these  Christian  patriots  from  our  army 
and  navy  ;  yet  we  will  be  still,  and  know  that  it  is 
God,  who  removes  them  to  a  fairer  clime.  These  are 
the  flowers  of  earth,  and  when  the  odor  of  their  virtues 
have  perfumed,  and  their  loveliness  adorned  this  sinful 
planet  for  a  time,  these  lovely  beings  are  mercifully 
removed  to  that  world  "  where  the  inhabitants  shall 
never  say  they  are  sick,"  or  that  any  blight  has  marred 
their  beauty  and  enjoyment, 

We  wish,  sometimes,  that  the  number  of  these  noble 
spirits  who  stay  a  few  years  upon  earth,  to  bless  it, 
was  greater  than  it  is  ;  but  it  is  not  well  this  should  be 
so,  for  God,  who  doeth  all  things  well,  sees  it  best  to 
remove  such.  Mrs.  Stetson  and  her  sweet  children 
have  our  tenderest  sympathy,  still,  we  feel  that  herself 
and  those  dear  to  her,  have  been  favored  above  thou- 
sands of  wives,  mothers,  and  friends,  who  have  been 
bereaved  by  this  cruel  war. 

In  the  same  hospital  where  Joseph  Stetson  expired, 
another  soldier  died  about  the  same  time,  whose  last 
hours  bore  a  striking  contrast  to  the  death-scene  we 


BESSIE    AND   HATMOND.  305 

have,  we  feel,  but  inadequately  described.  This 
soldier  had  taken  up  arms  to  assist  in  defending  the 
United  States  Government.  To  a  careless  observer, 
he  appeared  to  be  as  brave  a  soldier  as  Stetson.  His 
personal  appearance  was  more  imposing ;  beauty  sat 
enthroned  upon  his  bright  countenance  ;  his  splendid 
black  eyes  shone  with  peculiar  lustre,  as  he  stood 
erect,  accoutred  for  the  field,  and  boastfully  exclaimed, 
that  he  defied  the  Southern  chivalry  ;  that  his  strong 
right  arm  was  ready  to  help  chastise  traitors. 

He  wavered  not,  nor  shrank  from  duty  in  the  camp  or 
on  the  field,  audit  was  in  the  performance  of  duty  that  he 
was  wounded  and  laid  upon  a  couch  of  suffering.  The 
spirit  of  this  man  chafed  under  this  trial,  and  he  vented 
his  disquiet  in  blasphemy  and  curses,  which  disturbed 
his  fellow-sufferers  greatly.  When  first  confined,  he 
was  resolutely  determined  to  resist  every  effort  that  was 
made  to  do  him  good.  He  would  not,  he  said,  lie 
down  in  such  an  uncomfortable  place,  and  put  up  with 
such  accommodations  as  could  be  provided  by  Govern- 
ment ;  he  therefore  made  himself  very  uncomfortable, 
and  all  about  him,  by  his  impatience  and  imprecations. 

Then,  how  unlike  Stetson  was  he  when  his  strength 
was  exhausted,  and  he  knew  that  he  must  die.  He 
murmured  at  everything,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to 
please  him.  Like  his  fellow-soldier,  he  had  an  affec- 
tionate wife  and  two  small  children  ;  he  well  knew  his 
wife  was  not  in  a  situation  to  go  to  him  ;  however  much 
she  desired  the  privilege  of  seeing  him,  it  was  not  pos- 
sible for  her  to  be  with  him  ;  still,  in  his  impatient 
ravings,  he  accused  this  loving  wife  of  indifference  and 
forgetfulness  of  his  situation,  when  at  that  very  time 
her  heart  was  wrung  with  anguish  because  she  could 
31* 


366  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

not  be  permitted  to  minister  to  her  husband,  in  this 
time  of  suffering  and  need. 

All  who  witnessed  the  departure  of  this  young  man 
from  earth,  shuddered  at  the  thought  that  he  had,  by 
refusing  instruction,  and  wilfully  neglecting  his  obli- 
gations to  God,  shrouded  the  scene  of  his  deathbed 
in  darkness  and  doubt,  if  not  in  despair. 

"How  unlike  a  Christian  this  young  man  died," 
said  his  nurse,  mentally,  after  he  had  witnessed  his 
death-struggles,  and  listened  to  the  earnest,  agpnizing 
cries  for  mercy,  which  he  made  to  his  neglected  Sav- 
iour, in  his  last  hours.  Who  dare  say  that  these  cries, 
for  the  mercy  of  an  offended  God,  were  not  heard  and 
answered  ?  Yet,  who  does  not  tremble  at  the  thought 
that  fear  of  punishment,  rather  than  sorrow  for  sin, 
might  have  prompted  these  utterances.  All  that 
friends  can  do,  is  to  leave  such  cases  as  this  in  the 
hands  of  God,  without  presuming  to  sit  in  judgment 
upon  the  prospects  of  such  individuals  ;  it  is  enough 
that  they  are  in  the  hands  of  a  Being  who  will  not  do 
His  creatures  injustice. 

But  thoughts  of  those  who  live  as  if  there  was  no 
God,  until  death  stares  them  in  the  face,  and  then, 
leave  this  world  without  a  firm  hope  founded  upon 
the  Rock  of  Ages,  leads  us  to  long  especially,  that  the 
men  who  compose  the  army  and  navy  of  our  country, 
may  be  loyal  to  God,  as  well  as  to  these  United  States. 
Then,  and  never  until  then,  will  the  men  in  our  coun- 
try's service  be,  in  reality,  prepared  to  sacrifice  their 
temporal  life  upon-  the  altar  of  their  country. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  367 


CHAPTER   XLYIII. 

"  For  ambition  is  a  burning  mountain,  thrown  up  amid  the  turbid  sea; 
A  Strombolic  in  sullen  pride  above  the  hissing  wave ; 
And  tbe  statesman  elimbing  there,  forgetful  of  his  patriot  intentions, 
Shall  hate  the  strife  of  each  rough  step  or  ever  he  hath  toiled  mid- 
way ; 
And  every  truant  from  his  home,  the  happy  home  of  duty, 
Shall  live  to  loathe  his  eminence  of  cares,  that  seething  smoke  and 
lava." 

How  many  loyal  hearts  have  been  filled  with  anx- 
iety, much  of  the  time  since  April,  '63,  by  the  state 
of  affairs  in  the  neighborhood  of  Charleston,  South 
Carolina.  We  set  Morris  Island  down  as  being"  in  the 
near  neighborhood  of  Charleston,  because  the  rapid 
passage  of  war  missiles  seems  to  annihilate  the  dis- 
tance between  these  places. 

Last  April,  the  gaze  of  the  loyal  North  was  turned 
confidently  to  the  fleet  off  Charleston,  until,  with  dis- 
appointed hopes,  they  were  forced  to  avert  their  gaze, 
and  feel  that  they  mast  wait  still  longer,  before  the 
fort  that  was  first  desecrated  by  a  Rebel  shot  should  be 
again  possessed  by  that  Government  from  which  it 
had  been  wickedly  wrested  by  traitor  hands.  It 
seemed  strange  that  this  stronghold  was  not  com- 
pelled to  surrender  at  that  time,  but  it  is  certain  that 
it  was  not.  The  Rebel  flag  floated  as  defiantly  after 
the  attack,  as  before,  and  seemed  to  mock  the  idea  of 
loyal  men,  that  this  fortification  must  be  repossessed 
by  Uncle  Sam.  Several  times  during  the  summer  fol- 
lowing, Fort  Sumter  was  attacked  by  our  forces.     Its 


368  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

walls  were  sadly  battered,  and  its  flagstaff  repeatedly- 
shot  away ;  but  as  soon  as  it  fell,  it  was  each  time 
quickly  replaced,  and  flaunted  in  its  Rebel  pride  before 
the  eyes  of  loyal  men. 

"Sumter   shall   never  be   surrendered  to  the 

Yankees,"  was  the  bold  assertion  of  the  traitors  by 
whom  it  was  garrisoned  during  all  the  months  of  the 
Spring  and  Summer  of  '63.  With  how  much  interest 
have  our  hearts  turned  towards  that  point,  during  all 
this  time.  Not  that  its  capture  would  be  of  much 
consequence  to  our  Government  as  far  as  its  wealth 
was  concerned,  or  its  strength  as  a  fortification,  but 
because  it  would  be  honorable  to  our  forces  to  wrest 
it  from  traitor  hands,  and  plant  that  symbol  of  integ- 
rity, the  banner  of  our  nation,  over  it  once  more.  The 
Rebels  knew  this,  and  so  they  have  determined  to  hold 
the  ruins  of  that  celebrated  fort  to  the  latest  possible 
moment. 

Morris  Island  was  evacuated  by  the  Southrons,  and 
other  strongholds  of  Rebellion  were  made  compara- 
tively weak  by  shot  and  shell,  thrown  by  loyal  sol- 
diers into  them.  Sumter  was  fired  upon,  until  it  was 
thought  expedient  to  take  the  huge  pile  of  ruins  that 
bore  that  name,  by  storm.  It  was  garrisoned  still, 
though  it  bore  little  resemblance  to  a  fortification. 

"I  looked  at  Sumter  through  a  glass,  to-day;  it 
seems  to  be  a  ruin.  One  wall  looks  as  if  it  might  be 
easily  scaled."  Thus  wrote  one  who  was  in  the  fleet 
off  Charleston,  at  the  time  alluded  to,  and  had  for 
days  assisted  in  pouring  shell  into  this  shattered  forti- 
fication. Then  came  a  message  from  the  same  young 
man,  dated  September  8,  in  which  he  informed  his 
friends  that  a  night  expedition  had  been  planned,  and 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  369 

volunteers  called  for,  to  go  to  some  unnamed  point  on 
the  coming  night. 

"  I  have  asked  permission  to  go/'  said  he,  "  for  I 
suspect  Sumter  is  the  place  to  which  the  volunteers 
are  to  be  sent,  but  the  enrolment  officer  said,  at  first,  I 
was  too  slender  to  join  in  a  work  so  trying  as  the  one 
in  anticipation,  yet  after  all  the  best  men  on  board  our 
ship  had  offered,  and  still  more  were  needed,  by  ask- 
ing again  that  I  might  have  the  privilege  of  using 
what  strength  I  had,  I  was  told  that  I  might  go.  You, 
my  dear  mother,  shall  hear  from  me  at  the  earliest 
moment,  after  I  return  to  the  ship." 

With  this  letter  came  tidings,  through  the  "  Press," 
that  thrilled  the  heart  of  the  mother  and  sisters  of  this 
young  man  with  painful  suspense  on  account  of  this 
sc«i  and  brother.  The  expedition  was  attempted,  yet 
it  had  proved  a  failure.  Among  the  names  of  those 
captured  by  the  foe,  was  that  of  the  Captain  of  the 
Gunboat  to  which  Frank  Eaton  belonged  :  the  first 
Lieutenant's  name  was  also  recorded  among  the  cas- 
ualties. The  boat  sent  out  from  this  Gunboat,  con- 
tained twenty  men,  when  it  joined  the  company  of 
boats,  in  which  was  the  attacking  party  that  ap- 
proached Sumter.  This  boat  was  one  of  three,  that 
came  along  the  beach,  that  were  reported  as  having 
been  captured  or  destroyed  by  the  Rebels. 

u  My  boy  must  have  been  in  one  of  those  boats," 
thought  the  mother  of  Frank  ;  "  then  where  can  he  be 
now  ?  A  prisoner  of  war  at  Sumter,  and  perhaps 
wounded,  or  it  may  be  he  sleeps  in  death,  with  the 
dark  waters,  he  so  fearlessly  trusted  in  life,  for  a  cov- 
ering." 

How  long  seemed  the   days  that   intervened,  ere 


370  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

another  steamer  came  from  off  Charleston,  and  then 
how  eagerly  was  each  paper  searched,  that  contained 
any  news,  by  the  mother  and  sisters  of  our  boy.  A 
very  few  more  names  were  given  by  the  New  York 
Herald,  of  the  gallant  men  who  had  so  bravely  volun- 
teered to  do  their  country  service,  on  that  disastrous 
occasion.  More  names  were  promised  by  the  Herald's 
correspondent)  yet  week  after  week  passed,  and  these 
names  came  not  to  relieve  the  many  sad  hearts  that 
were  tortured  by  suspense. 

A  letter  was  at  the  end  of  two  weeks  despatched 
to  whoever  might  be  the  commander  of  the  vessel  to 
which  Frank  belonged,  and  then  again,  cheering  hope 
plumed  her  downy  wings,  and  floated  softly  through 
the  withering  atmosphere  of  suspense,  bearing  the 
hearts  of  these  anxious  ones  to  a  more  cheering  region. 
It  was  well  this  could  be  so,  for  0,  what  heart  could 
continue  to  throb  day  after  day,  under  the  terrible  in- 
fluence of  suspense,  unless  at  times  the  torment  it 
causes,  can  be  lessened  by  the  kindly  touch  of  hope, 
sweet  hope. 

A  month  had  passed,  and  yet  the  anxiety  of  these 
waiting  friends  had  not  been  relieved  by  tidings  from 
the  navy  boy. 

"  I  fear  greatly  that  it  will  be  long  ere  we  hear  any- 
thing from  Frank,"  said  his  mother  to  a  sister  of  the 
youth,  one  morning  towards  the  middle  of  October,  a 
little  more  than  four  weeks  after  the  long  to  be  remem- 
bered eighth  of  September. ' 

"I,  too,  am  apprehensive  that  he  is  a  prisoner,  and 
we  may  not  hear  from  him  for  many  months  ;  yet, 
mother,  I  cannot  feel  that  Frank  is  dead." 

"  Neither  can  I,  my  daughter  ;  yet  how  it  could  be 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  371 

possible  for  any  of  the  men  who  were  in  those  three 
boats  that  reached  the  beach  at  Sumter,  to  be  saved,  I 
cannot  imagine.  I  don't  quite  understand,  why  the 
other  boats  could  not  have  been  on  hand,  to  aid  the 
first  division,  and  probably  it  is  not  best  I  should.  I 
do  not  care  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  any ;  I  desire, 
more  than  anything  else,  a  spirit  of  submission  to  the 
trials  which  Infinite  wisdom  has  sent  upon  me.  I 
wish  to  trust  my  child  with  God,  and  to  do  so  cheer- 
fully. Of  myself,  I  know  I  cannot  bear  this  terrible 
trial,  but  I  feel  that  my  Father  in  heaven  has  taught  me 
to  pray  for  strength,  also,  that  He  will  preserve  my 
son  to  be  a  useful  man  in  the  world,  and  I  shall  feel 
disappointed,  if  the  position  I  feel  He  has  dictated,  is 
not  answered.  I  trust  Omnipotence  will  take  care 
of  my  boy,  still,  my  mother  heart  will  throb  with  an- 
guish at  times  :  but  I  will  not  be  distrustful." 

"I  wish  we  could  hear  something,"  said  the  sister 
of  Frank,  in  reply  to  what  her  mother  had  said,  "  for 
this  suspense  is  dreadful." 

On  the  evening  of  that  day,  the  penny-post,  who 
brought  letters  to  the  friends  of  Frank  Eaton,  entered 
their  dwelling.     It  may  interest  some  of  oar  readers 

to  know  that  Mrs.  Eaton  lived  in  the  town  of  G , 

Rhode  Island,  where  letters  were  generally  carried 
from  the  post  office  in  the  latter  part  of  the  day.  The 
approach  of  this  functionary  had  been  looked  for  with 
great  interest  for  several  weeks,  by  the  friends  of 
Frank,  and  hope  had  daily  whispered,  ere  he  came, 
that  he  probably  might  bring  some  news  from  the  son 
and  brother,  of  whom  they  longed  to  hear.  Missives 
had  been  brought  during  the  time,  from  many  corre- 
spondents, and  so  long  had  these  anxious  friends  looked 


372  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

in  vain,  that  on  this  day  the  mother  felt  it  would  be 
useless  even  to  ask  if  a  letter  had  been  brought  from 
off  Charleston.  Great  was  her  surprise,  therefore, 
when  the  penny-post  told  her,  upon  entering-  the  room 
where  she  was  sitting,  and  throwing  down  a  letter 
upon  a  table  that  stood  near  where  she  sat,  that  it  had 
been  mailed  at  Old  Point  Comfort. 

"  And  there  is  another  mailed  at  the  same  place, 
and  another,  and  yet  another/'  said  the  man,  placing, 
as  he  spoke,  the  fourth  letter  upon  the  table.  Mrs. 
Eaton  took  up  the  letters,  and  found  that  the  four  had 
been  post-marked  on  the  same  day,  and  that  that  day 
was  October  4. 

"  These  letters  have  all  been  written  by  Frank, " 
said  his  sister  Nettie.  "  I  want  to  learn  the  contents 
of  the  one  that  was  written  soonest  after  that  disas- 
trous expedition.  Shall  I  read  it,  mother?  He  ad- 
dresses both  sisters  and  yourself,  together. " 

Nettie  sat  down  and  read  a  missive  which  had  been 
penned  by  her  brother,  on  the  10th  of  September,  just 
two  days  after  the  attack,  which,  it  appeared  from  the 
letter,  to  have  resulted  in  great  mortification  to  the 
brave  fellows  who  had  risked  all  dear  to  them,  hoping 
it  would  be  their  privilege,  by  so  doing,  to  do  some- 
thing worthy  of  the  cost  they  paid. 

"  I  never,  my  dear  mother  and  sisters,  felt  so  sad  in 
my  life  as  now,"  wrote  Frank.  "I  told  you  of  our 
intended  expedition,  which  I  thought  was  to  storm 
Fort  Sumter,  in  my  letter  of  the  8th,  and  now  I  regret 
to  tell  you,  that  that  reconnoitre  was  a  failure.  I 
would  tell  you  all  about  this  sad  affair,  but  my  spirits 
are  depressed,  and  I  hate  to  think  about  it.  In  the 
most  quiet  manner  possible,  our  boat  started  at  about 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  373 

ten  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  8th.  We  went  to  the 
flagship,  where  we  were  joined  by  several  other  boats, 
and  then  we  started  for  the  place  of  our  destination. 
We  each  had  a  revolver  and  ammunition  given  us,  also 
a  cutlass.  We  were  told  that  our  work  was  to  be 
close,  sharp  work,  but  we  were  kept  in  ignorance  of 
its  exact  nature.  In  silence  we  rowed,  so  still  that  at 
times  we  fairly  held  our  breath,  and  could  almost  hear 
the  beating  of  our  hearts  as  we  proceeded  on  our 
way. 

At  one  time  we  went  so  near  to  Moultrie,  that  we 
supposed  we  were  to  storm  that  fortification.  Yet  on 
we  went,  without  asking  a  question.  No  word  was 
spoken,  save  that  a  few  orders  were  given  in  low 
whispers,  that  were  passed  from  boat  to  boat  without 
a  sound.  At  about  one  o'clock,  on  the  morning  of 
the  9th,  we  drew  near  to  Sumter ;  when  within  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of  this  stronghold,  we  were 
hailed  by  the  sentinel  with,  '  boat  ahoy  !  '  Three 
times  this  hail  was  repeated,  ere  it  was  noticed  by  our 
commander.  He  then  shouted,  '  Surrender,  there  ! ' 
It  seemed  as  though  this  order  was  considered  rather 
lightly  by  the  man  on  the  wall  above  us,  for  he  called 
out  in  a  loud  voice,  '  nary  time,  Johnny ;  you  can't 
come  up  here/ 

"  Pitch  in,  boys,  pull  ahead  !  "  shouted  our  Cap- 
tain, and  then,  with  a  loud  yell,  we  pulled  ahead 
with  all  our  might.  As  the  keel  of  our  boat  grated  on 
the  beach,  a  volley  of  musketry  was  fired  upon  us 
from  the  ruins  above  our  heads.  Many  a  poor  fellow 
was  killed  or  wounded  at  that  moment ;  many  a  shot 
whizzed  past  my  ears  ;  many,  too,  fell  short  of  hitting 
the  boat  in  which  I  was  stationed,  which  was  the  third 
32 


374  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

one  upon  the  beach,  which  was  only  an  oar's  length 
wide.  Above  the  beach  the  wall  rose  to  a  height  of 
forty-one  feet,  right  above  our  heads ;  to  discharge  our 
pistols,  we  were  obliged  to  hold  them  over  our  heads. 
The  enemy  burned  a  green  light,  and  opened  six  ports, 
throwing  a  glare  upon  as  as  bright  as  day.  This  light 
blinded  us,  and  we  were  so  situated  that  Sumter  was 
in  the  background.  The  alarm  was  general,  all  over 
the  harbor.  The  men  in  the  fort  threw  hand-grenades 
at  us,  poor  fellows,  who  were  disappointed  in  not  find- 
ing a  knocked-to-pieces  stone  wall,  as  we  expected, 
that  might  be  scaled.  Every  breach  that  was  in  the 
wall,  on  the  side  where  we  landed,  was  occupied 
with  sharp  shooters,  who  fired  upon  us  from  the  mo- 
ment we  touched  the  shore. 

"  Twenty  or  thirty  boats,  crowded  with  men,  were 
nearly  all  huddled  together.  Then  commenced  a  fire 
from  Moultrie  on  the  right,  and  also  from  James 
Island  on  the  left,  which,  with  Sumter  in  front,  made  a 
crossfire  on  three  sides  against  us.  The  first  shell 
from  Moultrie  whizzed  over  our  boat,  throwing  a  hogs- 
head of  water  over  us,  wetting  us  all  through,  in 
passing.  It  then  struck  the  Powhattan's  launch,  and 
neither  this  boat  nor  her  men  were  ever  seen  after- 
wards. 

"  It  was  soon  found  that  we  were  powerless  to  act 
against  the  foe,  and  the  order  was  given  to  retire. 
Some  of  the  boats  had  not  gone  in  at  all ;  the  third 
division,  when  the  first  shot  was  fired,  instead  of  dash- 
ing forward,  fell  back  in  confusion.  The  rams  of  the 
enemy  came  around  the  furt,  and  poured  a  heavy  fire 
upon  us  ;  we  then  retired  in  great  confusion,  while  the 
Rebs  followed  us  as  we  rowed  away,  with  a  galling  fire, 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  375 

which  sank  our  boats  and  struck  our  men  every  mo- 
ment. As  we  became  confused,  the  Rebels  became 
insolent,  and  called  loudly  to  us,  asking  why  we  did 
not  come  on  ;  then  they  called  us  all  the  Yankee  sons 
of  b  —  h,  possible. 

"  That  cross  fire  was  terrible.  Of  the  twenty  persons 
who  went  into  the  affray  in  one  boat,  only  eight  could 
be  mustered  after  we  returned  to  the  ship.  Our  Cap- 
tain was  missing,  also  our  first  Lieutenant.  The  Pow- 
hattan's  loss  was  great ;  one  boat  had  two  men  left 
out  of  nine.  I  should  think  we  lost  nearly  a  hundred 
brave  souls  in  all.  The  Rebels  cheered  loudly,  and  were 
very  exultant  over  our  defeat.  It  is  certain  that, 
had  Sumter  been  able  to  fire  big  guns,  none  of  this  at- 
tacking party  would  have  escd^ed  with  life.  The 
flags  we  took  to  raise  over  these  memorable  ruins 
were  some  of  them  captured  by  the  foe,  others  were 
brought  back  in  disgrace.  Sumter,  this  morning,  is 
as  defiant  as  ever.  I  never  felt  so  disheartened  be- 
fore, my  dear  friends,  but  you  may  be  sure  that  it  was 
not  the  fault  of  the  men  that  this  attack  proved  a 
failure." 

Much  more  was  communicated  by  this  youth  to  his 
relatives,  and  some  facts  which  he  stated  we  would 
,give  to  the  public,  but  we  must  wait  until  that  public 
is  less  tolerant  to  the  degrading  vice,  drunkenness. 
We  have  no  heart  to  speak  of  a  crime  which  is  so  easi- 
ly passed  over  by  those  in  high  places  ;  for  what  is 
the  influence  of  one  against  the  host,  who,  without 
compunction,  place  the  intoxicating  cup  to  the  lips  of 
their  neighbor.  Yea,  worse  than  that,  entice  those  of 
their  own  households  to  imbibe  draughts  that  destroy 
manhood,  and,  in  many  sad  cases,  all  that  is  lovely  in 
woman. 


376  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

Such  care  not,  if  all  the  lieutenants  in  the  navy,  and 
army  too,  degrade  themselves  in  the  presence  of  men 
over  whom  they  are  placed  by  Government,  by  their 
thick  utterances,  sounding  in  the  darkness  of  night, 
upon  ears  to  whom  the  voices  of  the  debauched  man 
is  ever  abhorrent.  We  wonder  how  it  is  that  the 
very  victims  of  intemperance  can  bear  themselves, 
much  less  how  they  can  expect  to  be  respected  by  in- 
feriors in  position,  whom  their  own  consciences  must 
tell  them  are  their  superiors  in  character.  How  we 
pity  the  men  in  our  army  and  navy,  who  are  obliged 
to  be  subjected  to  the  authority  of  wine-bibbers. 

It  is  not  the  fault  of  the  privates  in  our  country's 
service,  that  our  arms  have  not  oftener  been  victorious. 

We  are  grateful  that  we  have  some  good,  gallant, 
and  temperate  officers  in  the  United  States  service, 
but  we  cannot  but  mourn  over  the  waste  of  intellect, 
influence,  and  life,  caused  by  intemperance,  reports  of 
which  come  to  us  every  day.  How  often  have  our 
eyes  witnessed  the  disgrace  of  a  pair  of  Uncle  Sam's 
shoulder-straps.  A  lieutenant,  clothed  in  ablue  uniform, 
staggering  through  the  streets  of  one  of  our  principal 
cities,  uttering  the  unintelligible  jargon  of  a  drunkard. 
What  a  spectacle  !  Our  hearts  have  throbbed  with 
mingled  emotions  as  we  have  beheld  this  sight ;  disgust, 
pity,  and  scorn,  struggle  in  our  breast  for  the  mastery, 
while  we  reflect  that  real  men,  whole-souled,  earnest, 
patriots,  are  subjected  to  military  rule,  under  such 
characters  as  we  have  just  alluded  to. 

Would  that  the  public  sentiment  of  our  country 
would  banish  intoxicating  drink  from  every  circle  ; 
then  might  we  expect  sooner  to  see  the  sword  of 
Jehovah  sheathed,  which  is  now  scourging  this  nation, 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  377 

for  this  is  one  of  the  sins  which  a  holy  God  is  now  re- 
buking by  the  horrors  of  war. 

One  incident  that  has  occurred  since  our  nation's 
woes  began,  is  indelibly  impressed  upon  our  minds, 
and  it  shows  the  importance  of  correct  habits  in  men 
filling  influential  stations. 
32* 


378  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

"  Man  liveth  from  hour  to  hour,  and  knoweth  not  what  may  happen ; 

Influences  encircle  him  on  all  sides,  and  jet  must  he  answer  for  his  actions ; 

For  the  being  that  is  master  of  himself,  bendeth  events  to  his  will. 

But  a  slave  to  selfish  passion  is  the  wavering  creature  of  circumstance. 

To  this  man  temptation  is  a  poison,  to  that  man  it  addeth  vigor; 

And  each  may  render,  to  himself  influences  good  or  evil."  Tupper. 

How  much  a  trifling  incident  often  affects  the  life  of 
a  person,  especially  that  of  a  youthful  person.  It 
were  well  if  this  fact  was  oftener  borne  in  mind  by 
men  in  high  positions.  In  this  republican  land,  where 
all  are  or  ought  to  be  free  to  act,  and  where  ex- 
ample governs  more  sternly  than  any  civil  law,  in- 
dividuals should  be  wary,  lest,  by  example,  they  in- 
jure the  country  they  are  ready  to  give  their  life's 
blood  to  save  from  traitorous  invasion. 

"  What  an  idea  !  "  says  one  ;  "how  can  my  exam- 
ple affect  this  great  land  I  live  in  ?  " 

We  ask  any  such  caviller,  what  any  country  is 
worth  without  citizens  ?  and  further,  who  are  the  citi- 
zens of  a  land  ?  Are  they  not  individual  men  and 
women  ?  Do  not  the  acts  of  every  individual  who 
lives  in  a  community,  help  form  the  character  of  that 
community  ?  And  do  not  communities  make  the  na- 
tion strong  or  weak,  as  virtue  or  vice  abounds  in 
them  ?  But  we  did  not  intend  to  digress  thus,  but  to 
relate,  in  this  chapter,  the  incident  to  which  we  re- 
ferred in  the  one  which  precedes  it. 

Most  of  our  readers,  who  have  read  the  newspapers 
in  this  country  since  the  war  began,  are  aware  that 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  379 

our  rulers  at  Washington,  found  it  necessary,  a  year  or 
two  since,  to  establish  new  fortifications.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  there  has  been  much  talk  about  the 
sites  of  these  new  war  conveniences.  Some  wished 
them  to  be  in  one  place  and  some  in  another;  so,  of 
course,  it  was  important  that  every  situation  that  was 
recommended  by  either  party,  should  be  not  only  visited, 
but  examined  in  respect  to  its  advantages  as  a  site 
for  the  contemplated  public  establishment.  Commis- 
sioners were  consequently  appointed,  by  the  powers 
that  be,  to  visit  these  localities  and  then  report  at  the 
nation's  capital.  A  party  of  these  Government 
agents  left  a  city  in  New  England,  one  pleasant 
morning,  in  the  summer  of  18 — ,  to  examine  a  certain 
place,  which  hud  been  designated  by  some  of  our 
great  men,  as  an  excellent  locality  for  the  said  estab- 
lishment. 

Some  high  in  office  were  authorized  to  accompany 
these  commissioners.  We  write  about  this  affair 
without  any  personal  prejudice,  for  we  know  not  the 
names  of  any  of  this  party,  excepting  those  of  one 
military  gentleman,  and  one  youthful  friend  of  ours, 
who  was  taken  by  this  gentleman  to  perform  some 
little  needful  service.  The  youth  referred  to  was 
very  observant  of  the  acts  and  manners  of  the  gentle- 
men with  whom  he  was  in  company,  during  most  of 
the  hours  of  that  summer's  day,  and  impressions  were 
made  upon  his  mind  which  will  be  life  lasting.  Soon 
after  that  time  this  youth  visited  his  home,  on  leave  of 
absence,  from  a  post  of  public  duty.  It  was  amusing, 
so  say  the  friends  who  have  heard  this  young  man 
converse,  to  hear  his  original  description  of  a  scene 
that  occurred  during  that  tour  of  inspection. 


380  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

"  Why,  my  dear  mother,  I  did  not  know  you  were 
such  a  novice,  in  regard  to  the  doings  of  great  men, 
as  to  be  surprised  that  a  site  for  a  Government  work, 
could  not  be  inspected  by  cold  water  men.'7 

This  was  said  by  our  young  friend  in  reply  to  a  re- 
mark made  by  his  mother,  in  reference  to  the  inspec- 
tion party  alluded  to. 

u  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  mother,  but  men  I  have 
seen,  since  I  have  been  in  the  United  States  service, 
are  very  thirsty.  Now  these  Commissioners,  I  was 
childish  enough  to  fancy,  were  men  whose  appetites 
did  not  crave  the  ardent ;  but  lo,  before  they  returned 
from  their  run  up  the  river  or  bay,  through  which 
their  path  lay,  one  of  the  gentlemen  procured  some 
whiskey,  and  another  some  wine,  which  they  brought 
on  board  our  small  craft.  I  wondered,  at  first,  what 
they  could  want  of  the  heating  stuff  on  such  a  warm 
day,  but  I  soon  found  out  that  it  was  the  fashion, 
generally,  for  Government  men  to  treat,  and  have  a 
jolly  time  over  any  such  business.  Foolish  boy  I,  not 
to  have  known  this  sooner.  Don't  look  troubled, 
mother ;  your  son  was  not  slighted  on  the  occasion, 
if  he  was  n't  but  sixteen  years  old,  for  a  very  genial 
sort  of  a  gentleman  offered  me  some  whiskey,  which  I 
politely  declined.  He  then  offered  me  some  iced 
champagne,  and  when  I  declined  this  also,  the  man 
looked  at  me  intently  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  you  are  a  good  boy  not  to  drink  anything  of  the 
kind." 

"I  am  glad,  my  son,  that  he  spoke  thus,  as  those 
words  speak  volumes  in  favor  of  total  abstinence." 

"  I  felt  that  the  man  who  uttered  them  would  have 
respected  himself  more,  if  he  had  not  been  a  slave  to  a 
habit  that  is  so  powerful  over  him." 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  381 

"  Never  touch  that  cup,  my  son,  which  destroys 
all  manliness,"  said  the  mother  ;  "rely  not  upon  your 
own  strength  to  resist  temptation,  but  look  to  Heaven 
for  help,  to  keep  yourself  clear-headed. " 

"  The  taste  of  liquor  is  not  any  temptation  to  me, 
mother,  for  I  don't  love  it ;  all  I  have  to  resist,  is  the 
jeers  of  companions  ;  they  ridicule  me  at  times,  un- 
mercifully, but  I  have  learned  to  ridicule  myself, 
whenever  this  is  attempted,  and  now  I  am  seldom 
spoken  to  upon  the  subject.  Every  one  seems  to 
think  I  will  get  along  as  well  without  liquor,  and  so  I 
am  let  alone.  I  must  say,  if  I  am  a  boy,  that  I  pity 
some  men  who  are  in  high  places,  because  they  seem 
to  be  slaves  to  stimulating  drink. 

"  One  man,  in  particular,  I  wish  would  never  again 
taste  spirit.  I  was,  as  you  well  remember,  under  his 
command  for  a  season,  and  he  was  an  excellent  officer 
when  he  was  not  stimulated  ;  but  when  he  was  under 
the  influence  of  wine,  he  was  unlike  himself.  I  .like 
many  traits  in  this  man's  character,  yet  I  cannot  feel 
any  respect  for  him,  for  it  is  impossible  for  a  drink- 
ing man  to  inspire  me  with  such  a  feeling.  Then 
think  of  this  other  man,  high  in  the  estimation  of  his 
country,  offering  intoxicating  liquor  to  a  mere  boy. 
How  did  he  know  but  he  might  be  helping  make  me  a 
drunkard  by  doing  so.  I  hope  I  shall  think  more  of 
my  influence  when  I  am  a  man." 

"  They  had  better,  when  cold,  resort  to  the  remedy 
Clarence  uses  in  such  a  case,"  remarked  Mrs.  Eaton. 

"  Cayenne  pepper  is  all  the  stimulant  he  ever  takes, 
isn't  it,  mother?" 

"  It  is  ;  and  no  man  in  the  army  has  been  sick  less 
than  he  has  during  the  eighteen  months  he  has  served 


382  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

his  country  both  in  the  camp,  and  in  the  field.  As  a 
medicine,  ardent  spirit  is  sometimes  useful,  but  its 
use  kills  thousands  more  than  it  ever  cured." 

"lam  persuaded  that  there  is  no  need  of  my  taking 
a  'horn,'  as  they  call  a  glass  of  spirit,  and  I  hope  I 
shall  never  be  left  to  be  a  drunkard." 

"  Persevere,  in  refusing  to  taste  even  a  little  of  that 
which  will  deprive  you  of  self-command,  as  well  as 
self-respect,  and  you  will  be  safe  from  one  great  evil ; 
an  evil,  too,  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  sword, 
which  is  now  slaying  so  many  of  the  lovely  young 
men  in  our  land." 

We  know  this  young  man,  and  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  thus  far  he  has  kept  free  from  the  vice  of 
intemperance.     His   taste   has  not  been  polluted   by 

more  than  two  years'  service  in  the ,  and  though 

he  confesses  himself  destitute  of  heartfelt  respect  for 
intemperate  officers,  he  is  still  ready  to  serve  his 
country  faithfully,  under  any  circumstances. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  383 


CHAPTER  L. 


"  Were  once  our  vain  desires  subdued, 
The  heart  resigned  at  rest; 
In  every  scene  we  should  conclude, 
The  will  of  Heaven  is  best." 


How  the  hearts  of  Mrs.  Stetson  and  her  sister  Min- 
nie turned  back  to  the  spot  that  was  sacred  to  them 
as  the  earthly  resting-place  of  their  loved  friend,  while 
they  were  travelling  back  to  their  home. 

"  How  sad  it  seems  to  leave  Joseph  behind  us," 
said  the  wife,  after  a  long  and  painful  silence  on  the 
part  of  both  these  friends,  as  they  journeyed  home- 
wards. 

"  It  does,  indeed,"  replied  Minnie,  "  and  the 
thought  would  be  agonizing,  could  we  not  feel  that 
his  immortal  spirit  is  happy  with  his  God." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Stetson,  "and  there  is  another 
comforting  reflection  beside,  and  that  is,  our  belief  in 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  which  is  promised  in  the 
Bible." 

"It  is  indeed  a  sweet  thought  that  the  dead  shall 
rise  again,  and  that  in  heaven  we  shall  recognize  those 
we  have  known  and  loved  on  earth." 

"  Were  it  not  for  the  sustaining  power  of  the 
gospel,"  replied  Minnie,  "  the  heart-burdens  which 
this  desolating  war  has  brought  upon  thousands,  could 
never  have  been  borne." 

This  last  remark  was  heard  by  a  fellow-traveller, 
who  stood  near  the  sisters  as  they  were  standing  to- 


384  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

gether,  upon  the  upper  deck  of  a  steamer  which  was 
bearing  them  from  all  that  remained  of  their  precious 
friend.  It  was  true  that  their  home  was  at  the  end  of 
their  journey,  yet  who  that  has  been  placed  in  circum- 
stances like  theirs,  does  not  appreciate  the  feeling 
that  filled  the  hearts  of  these  sorrowing  ones,  and 
divided  their  interest  between  home  and  the  grave  of 
the  loved  one.  So  absorbed  were  these  mourners  in 
their  own  feelings,  that  they  had  not  noticed  a  stran- 
ger was  observing  them  intently,  until  they  were  ad- 
dressed by  the  person  before  referred  to. 

"  Who  brought  this  desolating  war  upon  our  land  ?  " 
asked  this  stranger,  in  a  sharp,  disagreeable  tone,  look- 
ing at  Minnie  as  she  spoke. 

"The  war  is  raging,  and  that  is  a  point  all  are 
agreed  upon,"  responded  Minnie,  with  some  spirit, 
for  her  feelings  on  this  point  were  very  vulnerable, 
and  she  felt  that,  under  the  circumstances,  the  question 
asked  was  unkind  as  well  as  uncalled  for. 

"  You  needn't  be  so  fiery  over  it,"  said  the  coarse 
individual,  who,  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  we  came 
near  calling  a  lady.  "  If  there  hadn't  been  so  much 
fuss,"  continued  she,  "made  about  the  '  golden  rule,' 
this  war  would  n't  have  been  brought  about.  Judging 
from  what  I've  heard  and  se*en,  I  suppose  you've 
friends,  or  a  friend,  down  by  Port  Hudson  ;  and  I  know 
of  others  who  were  crazy  enough  to  consent  to  their 
family's  being  half  destroyed ;  but,  thank  my  stars,  no- 
body dear  to  me  is  in  danger  of  being  shot,  and  I 
don't  mean  they  shall  be,  if  I  can  keep  'em  at  home. 
Some  of  the  women  in  our  country  act  like  fools. 
They  may  as  well  go  to  Congress,  and  done  with  it,  as 
to  be  acting  as  they  do  at  home,  making  men  believe 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  385 

all  sorts  of  nonsense  to  be  their  duty.  For  my  part, 
I'm  not  a  masculine  woman  ;  I  don't  want  to  have  my 
influence  go  to  help  turn  things  upside  down  in  the 
country,  as  these  other  women  do.  I  am  a  peaceable 
woman,  and  want  things  to  go  smooth  where  I  live, 
so  that  a  body  won't  be  obliged  to  pay  so  much  for 
what  they  want.  Only  think  on  't  now,  a  piece  of 
cotton  cloth  can't  be  bought  without  you  have  to  pay 
all  out  doors  for  't." 

During  the  delivery  of  the  speech  we  have  quoted, 
our  friends  watched  for  a  pause,  during  which  they 
might  escape  from  the  presence  of  the  speaker  with- 
out seeming  rude  ;  but  they  watched  in  vain.  *Mrs. 
Grumpy  was  one  of  those  women  who  will  make  you 
hear  what  they  have  to  say,  whether  you  will  or  no. 
Minnie,  when  she  found  she  must  listen  to  this  dis- 
agreeable one-sided  conversation,  at  first  felt  annoyed 
even  more  than  her  sister,  but  as  her  sense  of  the  lu- 
dicrous was  very  strong,  she  was  amused  by  the 
stranger's  regret  at  the  high  price  of  cotton  cloth ; 
and  when  this  untutored  being  paused,  at  the  end  of 
the  laughable  sentence  last  uttered,  to  take  breath, 
Minnie  could  not  resist  an  impulse  to  answer  it. 

"Then  you  are  troubled  by  the  high  price  of  cot- 
ton ?  "  said  she. 

"  Troubled  ?  yes,  of  course  I  am,"  replied  the 
stranger  ;  "  who  is  n't,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

u  I'm  not,"  said  Minnie  gently,  yet  firmly. 

"  You  're  not  ?  I'd  like  to  know  why  you  aint ;  per- 
haps you  've  got  a  lots  er  cloth  on  hand,  and  so  don't 
need  to  buy  any  now.  Folks  that  have,  don't  feel  so 
anxious  to  have  peace  brought  about  as  I  do." 

"I  wonder-,"  thought  Minnie,  "if  it  is  worth  my 
33 


366  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 


* 


while  to  state  my  views  to  such  a  person ;  it  seems 
like  wasting  words,  to  try  to  convince  people  who 
think  as  she  does /that  they  are  in  an  error,  and  still, 
she  will  feel  that  I  have  not  anything  to  say  if  I  re- 
main silent." 

"Suppose,"  said  Minnie  to  Mrs.  Grumpy,  "I  tell 
you  that  the  price  of   cloth  is  something  I  seldom 
think  of,  because  my  mind  is  occupied  by  subjects  of 
more  importance." 
"It  is,  is  it?" 
"Yes." 

"Then  I  guess  you  haven't  had  to  buy  any  cloth 
very -lately." 
"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  Well,  did  you  have  to  pay  a  big  price  for  it  ?  " 
"  I  paid  more  than  triple  what  I  used  to  pay,  of 
course." 

"  You  did  ;  and  you  think  these  enonnemous  prices 
all  right,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"I  think  it  an  inconvenience  growing  out  of  the 
war ;  the  price  of  almost  every  article  sold  is  ad- 
vanced in  time  of  war,  in  all  countries." 

"But  there  was  no  need  of  this  war,  at  all;  I've 
had  friends  at  the  South,  always,  and  I've  known  all 
along  by  them,  that  the  Southerners  would  always 
have  been  peaceable  if  they  had  been  let  to  have  their 
own  way  a  little.  Of  course,  they  wanted  things  to 
please  them ;  they  aint  used  to  being  crossed,  and  if 
the  folks  at  Washington  had  only  given  way  to  'em, 
'twould  've  been  as  calm  all  over  the  land  as  smooth 
water.  I  don't  see  the  use  of  fighting  'em,  and  stir- 
ring up  the  country,  as  the  folks  did  when  the  South 
fired  that  ar  cannon  inter  that  fort  in  South  Carlina. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  387 

If  they  'd  only  kept  still,  'twould  all  've  turned  out 
somehow  ;  at  any  rate,  there  'd  not  have  been  so  many 
deaths  in  the  country  as  there  has  been,  as  things  have 
turned  out.  But  I'm  beat,  that  you  don't  seem  to  care 
a  good  deal  about  the  high  prices  of  everything,  and 
are  not  down  on  this  war ;  for  I  suppose,  by  appear- 
ances, that  you  've  lost  some  friend  down  South  there, 
haven't  you?  " 

Minnie  wiped  the  tears  she  could  not  keep  back,  as 
the  recollection  of  the  bereavement  which,  her  sister 
and  herself  had  so  recently  suffered  came  over  her 
spirits.  She  could  not  speak  for  some  moments,  but 
at  the  end  of  that  time  she  spoke  calmly,  saying,  she 
had  lately  lost  a  dear  friend,  who  had  died  from  the 
effect  of  wounds  received  in  battle. 

"  Mercy  onus,"  cried  Mrs.  Grumpy,  "and  still  you 
want  this  war  to  go  on." 

"  I  have  n't  said  that  I  did,"  replied  Minnie. 

"  Well,  I  know  you  haint  just  them  ar  words,  but 
what  you  've  said,  amounts  to  that,  you  know,  or  I  do." 

"No,  madam,  pardon  me  for  contradicting  what 
you  have  said,  but  I  have  not  left  you  to  draw  an  in- 
ference, by  any  word  I  have  spoken,  that  I  wished  to 
have  war  in  our  land.  I  would  be  grateful  to  have  it 
cease  this  very  hour,"  said  Minnie,  with  much  earnest- 
ness, "yet  I  should  mourn  to  have  it  end  so  as  to 
leave  our  country  in  a  worse  situation  than  when  it 
begun  ;  I  love  my  friends,  and  I  love  my  comfort  as 
well  as  most  people  do,  and  this  war  deprives  me  of 
both  friends  and  comfort,  such  as  I  enjoyed  before  it 
commenced,  but  I  would  not  have  it  end  unhappily  for 
the  nation,  even  if  my  own  life  must  be  sacrificed  in 
consequence." 


388  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

"  You  're  real  earnest,  but  you  aint  a  peace-woman, 
I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Grumpy. 

"  You  or  any  one  eise  can  see  that  I  am  not  a  per- 
son who  would  compromise  right  for  the  sake  of  peace, " 
said  Minnie,   "and  I  wish  them  to.     I'm  not  one," 
continued    she,    glancing    towards    the    crowd    that 
had  gathered  around  the  party,  attracted  by  the  loud 
voice  of  Mrs.  Grumpy,  "  of  those  who  wish  to  have  the 
wound  Rebellion  has  inflicted  upon  our  noble  institu- 
tions slightly  healed  so  that  our  land  would  be  left 
exposed  to  the  horrors  of  another  and  more  terrible 
conflict  than  this.     Justice  and  mercy  must  go  hand  in 
hand,  in  the  administration  of  law  ;  mercy  alone  would 
fail  to  benefit  such  traitors  as  the  United  States  has  had 
to  deal  with.     The  leaders  in  this  gigantic  Rebellion 
need  hanging  ;  it  would  be  merciful  to  the  South  to  hang 
them."     Minnie  then  moved  away  from  the  little  as- 
sembly of  listeners  who  had  heard,  in  silence  the  con- 
versation between  herself  and  the  selfLintroduced  Mrs. 
Grumpy.     She  had  scarcely  passed  beyond  the  sound 
of  their  voices,  before  various  comments  were  made 
upon  the  views  she  had  expressed. 
"  That 's  a  bright  one,"  said  one. 
"  She  's  a  noble  girl,"   said  a  gentleman  who  had 
been   an  interested   auditor,  while  Minnie  had  been 
speaking.     "  Such  young  ladies  as  she  is,  do  a  good 
work  for  our  country,  in  her  hour  of  darkness." 

"Indeed  they  do,"  responded  another  gentleman, 
"for  they  do  much  to  sustain  our  young  men  in  the 
field,  by  their  influence  ;  and  the  influence  of  woman 
is  always  powerful,  either  for  good  or  evil." 

"  I  suppose  such  a  girl  as  she  is  must  have  a  beau 
in  the  army  ;  but,  if  she  has  n't,  she  helps  other  girls' 
beaux  to  be  brave,"  said  a  fourth  speaker. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  389 

"  My  opinion  of  the  matter  is,"  remarked  a  fifth 
speaker,  "  that  women  ought  n't  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  public  matters  in  any  way.  I  reckon  they  're 
out  of  their  place  when  they  talk  about  the  affairs  of  the 
country,  and  give  their  opinion  as  this  young  lady  has 
done,  in  this  public  place.  I  want  my  daughters  to 
mind  their  own  matters  of  dress,  visiting,  and  the 
like,  and  not  get  their  brains  turned  topsy-turvy 
about  the  country  they  happen  to  live  in.  There  's 
enough  folks  to  see  to  war  matters  without  them." 

Mrs  Grumpy  happily  coincided  with  the  views  of 
this  speaker,  and  we  left  these  two  selfish  ones  en- 
gaged in  a  cosy  chat  about  the  meddlesome  qualities 
of  some  women  of  the  present  generation,  who  really 
are  so  stupid  as  cheerfully  to  bear  their  part  of  the 
great  burden  now  laid  upon  our  bleeding  country,  for 
the  sake  of  right. 

Our  friends,  while  they  remained  on  the  steamer, 
after  this,  took  care  to  keep  aloof  from  Mrs.  Grumpy, 
for  their  thoughts  were  too  full  of  sad  thoughts,  to 
admit  of  their  engaging  in  unnecessary  conversation, 
without  pain.  The  sight  of  the  steeples  of  their  own 
town  was  hailed  with  pleasure,  as  they  approached 
their  home  ;  still,  this  pleasure  was  qualified,  because 
they  had  been  obliged  to  return,  leaving  in  a  distant 
grave  all  that  remained  of  their  almost  idolized  hus- 
band and  brother. 

"  When  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Stetson,  just  before  the 
travellers  alighted  at  the  home  of  their  mother,  "that 
Joseph  will  no  more  sympathize  in  our  joys  and  sor- 
rows, I  don't  know  how  I  can  live  ;  then  we  shall 
miss  his  letters  so  much,  too.     Oh,  how  sad  it  all  is." 

"  Yes,"  said  Minnie,  "  if  we  allow  our  thoughts 
33* 


390  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

to  dwell  upon  the  dark  side  of  the  picture  ;  but  there 
is  a  brighter  view  to  be  taken,  and  Joseph  wished  us 
to  look  upward,  where  he  is  now,  rejoicing  in  his 
heavenly  home." 

"  I  thank  you,  sister,  for  reminding  me  of  this,  just 
at  the  time  when  I  most  need  support.  See,  there 
stands  our  mother  in  the  door,  and  she  can  with 
difficulty  restrain  her  tears,  even  now.  Let  us  look 
upward  and  cheerfully  trust  in  God. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  391 


CHAPTER  LI. 

"  Who,  that  bears 

A  human  bosom,  hath  not  often  felt, 

How  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race 

In  gentleness  together ;  and  how  sweet 

Their  force ;  let  Fortune's  wayward  hand  the  while 

Be  kind  or  cruel  1 " 

"How  has  Bessie  got  along  with  my  children ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Stetson,  soon  after  she  arrived  at  the  home 
of  her  mother.  Ere  Mrs.  Granger  could  reply,  Bessie 
entered  the  house,  accompanied  by  her  little  charge. 
The  youngest  child  clung  to  her  fondly,  while  the 
other  walked  by  her  side,  until  he  saw  his  mother  and 
aunt.  He  then  bounded  towards  them,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  childish  delight,  encircling  the  neck  of 
each  in  turn,  and  declaring,  as  he  kissed  them,  that 
now  he  had  a  mother  and  two  aunties,  for  Bessie  was 
just  as  good  as  his  Aunt  Minnie. 

"I  love  Auntie  Bessie,  too,"  lisped  little  Walter, 
the  baby  of  the  whole  family. 

"  What  has  Auntie  Bessie  got  to  say  about  my 
little  fatherless  boys,  I  wonder,"  said  the  mother  of 
the  children. 

"  That  they  have  given  me  less  trouble  than  I  an- 
ticipated when  I  volunteered  to  look  after  them,  and 
that  I  am  very  glad  I  have  been  able  to  stay  with 
them  during  your  absence  from  them." 

"  You  have  conferred  a  favor  upon  me,  Bessie,  as 
well  as  upon  my  daughter,  by  caring  for  these  little 
ones,  because  I  should  have  felt  that  I  must  have  them 


392  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

with  me,  if  you  had  not,  and  my  health  has  not  been 
adequate  to  such  a  task." 

"  I  have  known,  Mrs.  Granger,  that  you  were  not 
well,  and  this  knowledge  determined  me  to  avoid 
troubling  you  about  many  little  matters  that  con- 
cerned the  children,  which  I  should  have  run  to  you 
about,  had  I  felt  it  would  have  been  right.  I  have 
learned  that  I  can  rely  upon  myself  now  I  have  been 
obliged  to,  so  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  thank  you  for  the 
experience  I  have  had,  rather  than  accept  thanks  from 

you." 

"  Is  this  Bessie  Jenkins  ?  "  asked  a  lady  who  had 
entered  the  room  where  the  friends  were  assembled, 
unobserved,  and  unintentionally  had  been  a  listener  to 
their  conversation. 

"Why,"  Aunt  Amey !  exclaimed  several  voices  at 
once. 

"You  are  surprised  to  see  me,  I  suppose,  because 
you  supposed  I  was  absent  from  the  place,  but  you 
might  have  known  I  could  not  stay  away  from  any  of 
this  family,  when  any  part  of  them  are  afflicted  in  any 
way.  I  sympathize  with  you,  deeply,  if  you  don't 
believe  Aunt  Amey  is  susceptible  of  much  feeling. 
But  never  mind  anything  about  that,  now  ;  only  tell 
me,  if  it  is  really  true,  that  Bessie  Jenkins  took  care 
of  these  little  ones,  when  their  mother  was  away." 

"  It  is  true,  Miss  Benson,"  replied  Bessie,  "  that  I 
have  taken  care  of  them,  during  the  last  fortnight  and 
longer." 

"How  much  help  did  you  have  ?  "  inquired  Aunt 
Amey,  doubting  somewhat  the  correctness  of  the  state- 
ment Bessie  had  made. 

"  Only  my  woman  of  all  work,  Aunt  Amey,"  said 
Mrs.  Stetson. 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  393 

"  Well,  then,  wonders  are  farther  from  ceasing  now- 
adays, than  ever,  I  am  obliged  to  say.  Why,  I 
shouldn't  have  been  any  more  astonished,  if  I  had 
been  told  that  Mrs.  Abraham  Lincoln  had  come  from 
Washington,  to  look  after  these  little  boys,  during 
their  mother's  absence.  Bessie,  how  changed  you 
must  be.  I  must  say  what  I  feel,  for  I  am  too  glad  to 
conceal  my  feelings.  Another  startling  case  has  oc- 
curred, recently,"  said  Aunt  Amey. 

Bessie  laughed  outright,  as  Aunt  Amey  said  this. 

"  You  seem  to  imply,  Miss  Benson,  that  my  having 
taken  care  of  this  friend's  children  for  a  short  season, 
is  something  startling." 

"  I  confess  that  it  is  so  unlike  any  act  of  yours  that 
has  ever  come  to  my  knowledge,  that  I  was  startled 
at  hearing  what  you  had  done,"  replied  Aunt  Amey. 

"  Then  what  do  you  think  of  what  Lilian  Grey  has 
done  of  late  ?  "  asked  Bessie. 

"  That  is  no  more  for  her,  if  as  much,  as  for  you  to 
bring  your  ideas  down  to  tending  children.  I  thought 
you  didn't  use  to  love  children,  Bessie." 

"  I  did  n't,  but  my  feelings  are  very  different  towards 
them,  from  what  they  were  a  few  months  since." 

"What  of  Lilian  Grey?  tell  us  about  her,  for  we 
have  not  heard,"  said  Minnie,  speaking  for  her  sister, 
as  well  as  for  herself. 

"Why,"  said  Aunt  Amey,  "all  there  is  to  tell 
about  her  is,  that  she  has  been  getting  cured  of  her 
aversion  to  meet  strangers,  or  to  push  herself  forward 
under  any  circumstances.  You  probably  know  how 
diffident  she  has  always  been." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Minnie,  "it  was  out  of  the 
power  of  any  one  to  persuade  her  to  take  the  lead  in 


394  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

anything,  she  was  always  sure  to  shrink  back,  when 
with  a  party  of  ladies  she  was  entering  some  public 
place,  and  would  be  found  in  the  rear  when  she  went 
into  a  church  or  hall." 

"Every  one  who  knows  her,  has  noticed  this  trait 
in  her  character,"  said  Bessie. 

"  Well,  we  know  now,  that  folks  can  do  things 
sometimes  that  are  against  nature,"  remarked  Aunt 
Amey,  "  since  Lilian  Grey  went  to  Annapolis,  alone." 

"  She  must  have  been  prompted  by  some  powerful 
motive,"  said  Mrs.  Stetson. 

"  Affection  and  sympathy  were  stronger  feelings  at 
the  time  than  diffidence,  probably,  else  she  could  not 
have  overcome  her  diffidence,  so  as  to  have  done  this," 
said  Mrs.  Granger. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Aunt  Amey.  "It  was  a 
sight  worth  seeing,  one  day  in  August,  when  news 
was  brought  to  her  home,  that  an  only  brother  of  hers, 
who  had  been  wounded  at  Gettysburg,  and  had  been 
in  the  hospital  at  Annapolis  some  time,  was  in  great 
danger,  from  a  disease  which  was  becoming  prevalent 
among  the  wounded  soldiers.  The  family  were  about 
assembling  around  the  dinner-table,  when  the  tidings 
was  brought  from  this  absent  one,  who  was  dear  to 
them  all." 

"  Lilian,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  determined  to 
go  to  her  brother,  and  try  to  get  leave  of  absence  for 
him,  if  she  should  find  him  able  to  be  carried  to  his 
home.  This  determination  she  at  once  expressed  to 
her  family." 

"You  cannot  go,  Lilian,"  said  her  father;  "you 
will  be  sick  if  you  do." 

"  But  who  will  go  if  I  do  not  ?  you,  father,  are  not 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  395 

able,  and  I  feel  that  some  one  of  us  must  start  tliis 
very  hour.  Don't  discourage  me  ;  I  can  bear  some 
hardship,  as  well  as  Lucius  —  a  great  deal ;  think  how 
he  has  suffered,  and  how  trying  it  must  be  to  a  youth 
like  him,,  only  eighteen  years  old,  to  be  situated  as  he 
is,  without  a  friend  near  him." 

Her  father  said  no  more,  and  that  same  hour  Lilian 
set  out  on  her  journey  from  Landville  to  the  place 
where  her  brother  was  suffering,  a  distance  of  several 
hundred  miles.  Circumstances  had  separated  Lilian 
from  this  brother,  for  some  years  previous  to  the  time 
when  he  enlisted,  and  he  had  so  changed  that  she  did 
not  recognize  him  when  she  found  him.  The  meeting 
of  this  brother  and  sister  was  most  interesting.  Lilian 
remained  several  days  at  Annapolis  before  she  suc- 
ceeded in  procuring  a  furlough  for  Lucius  ;  but  she 
did  succeed,  and  took  him  home  with  her,  where  he 
was  permitted  to  remain  some  little  time. 

"  Where  is  Lilian,  now  ?  "  inquired  Minnie. 

''Here  in  Oak  Dale,  stopping  with  her  friends,  the 
Delmots  ;  she  left  her  brother  at  home  when  she  came 
from  there,  a  few  days  since." 

"  These  friends  of  hers,  I  hear,  are  greatly  af- 
flicted," remarked  Bessie. 

"They  are,"  answered  Aunt  Amey.  "I  have  just 
come  from  the  house  of  Mrs.  Delmot,  and  it  is  true 
that  Clarence  is  a  prisoner  at  Richmond.  His  wife 
and  mother  both  feel  distressing  apprehensions  of  his 
suffering,  if  not  dying  from  starvation,  in  the  hands  of 
his  Rebel  captors." 

"  Their  present  trial  is  greater  than  mine,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Stetson,  while  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  "  My 
loved  one  suffers  not,  but  is  sweetly  resting  upon  the 


396  BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND. 

bosom  of  his  Lord  and  Saviour,  while  this  husband 
and  son  is  enduring  the  horrors  of  a  captivity  such  as 
has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  experienced,  even  in  barbar- 
ous countries." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Delmot  had  a  letter  from  Clarence  since 
he  was  captured  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Granger. 

"  She  has,  and  she  read  it  to  me  this  morning. 
Clarence  says  he  should  not  have  been  captured,  had 
he  not  been  deceived  by  the  blue  overcoats  which  were 
worn  by  the  Eebels.  Supposing  them  to  be  Union 
soldiers,  he  got  within  a  carbine's  length  of  several  of 
Stuart's  cavalry,  when  three  of  these  guns  were,  in  a 
moment,  pointed  at  his  breast,  and  he  could  do  noth- 
ing but  surrender.  He  stated  that  there  was  some 
disputing  over  his  horse,  as  to  who  should  have  him, 
but  that  he  was  allowed  to  take  from  his  saddle-bags 
anything  he  wished,  which,  he  remarked,  was  a  privi- 
lege granted  to  but  few." 

"  What  does  he  say  of  his  situation  and  eatables  ?  " 
asked  Bessie. 

"  He  didn't  speak  of  his  food  at  all,  but  said  he  was 
confined  in  a  room  forty-two  feet  square,  with  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty-six  prisoners  ;  that  all  these  had  to  be 
marched  two  by  two,  daily,  to  one  small  stream  of 
water,  where  all  were  permitted  to  wash  their  faces 
and  hands.  No  farther  ablution  was  allowed,  neither 
could  they  wash  their  clothes  on  any  occasion  ;  he 
stated  also,  that  the  dirt  and  vermin  were  intolerable,  in 
the  prison  where  he  was  confined." 

"I  hope  Clarence  is  not  in  the  Libby  prison,"  said 
one  of  the  company,  and  all  present  echoed  this  hope. 

"  He  is  not,"  continued  Aunt  Amey,  "but  is  in  the 
Laundry  prison,  and  that  isn't  a  fit  place  for  cattle 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  3D7 

even,  much  less  for  such  gallant  men  as  arc  incarcer- 
ated there." 

"Clarence  said  in  his  letter  that  he  looked  through 
iron  grates  and  thought  of  home,"  said  Bessie.  "  It 
seems  very  hard  that  so  brave  a  fellow  as  he  has  been 
should  be  shut  up  in  such  a  terrible  place  ;  a  common 
prison-house  would  be  awful,  but  these  dens,  where 
traitorous  men  shut  up  loyal  soldiers,  are  intolerable. 
I  feel  indignant  when  I  think  of  these  Rebel  bar- 
barities." 

"So  do  all,  who  are  friends  to  humanity,"  said 
Mrs.  Granger. 

"  Clarence  is  the  right  kind  of  a  man  to  get  along 
with  disagreeables,  without  hurting  himself  by  chafing 
his  spirit  about  them/'  said  Minnie  ;  "he  has  always 
abstained  from  the  use  of  intoxicating  liquors,  also  from 
the  use  of  tobacco  ;  consequently,  he  has  more  strength 
to  endure  now,  than  most  of  his  fellow-prisoners." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Aunt  Amy,  speaking  in  an 
emphatic  tone  ;  "  and  some,  who  sneered  at  his  use  of 
cayenne  pepper,  would  now  be  glad  of  some  of  the 
strength  he  has  saved  by  resorting,  in  times  of  expos- 
ure, to  this  stimulant  instead  of  ardent  spirits." 

"  Clarence  Delmot  has  been  a  faithful  soldier,"  said 
Minnie,  "  ever  since  our  troubles  began.  He  is  unpre- 
tending, but  he  is  fearless  and  valiant ;  once  his  horse 
was  shot  under  him  ;  once  he  lay  concealed  through 
one  whole  night  and  day,  within  a  few  rods  of  the  foe, 
in  order  to  escape  capture  ;  yet  now,  after  having 
been  unharmed  by  shot  and  shell,  which  has  seven- 
teen times  been  poured  upon  him  by  the  Rebels,  he  is 
incarcerated  in  a  loathsome  prison." 

"  These  things  are  harrowing  to  dwell  upon,"  said 
3i 


398  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

Mrs.  Granger,  while  a  tear  bedewed  her  cheek,  "yot 
we  must  obey  the  injunction,  <  Be  still,  and  know  that 
I  am  God/  that  Being  who  will  make  this  terribly 
cruel  war  to  cease  in  his  own  good  time." 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  399 


CHAPTER  LII. 

"  O,  what  men  dare  to  do  !  what  men  daily  do  I  not  knowing  what  they 
do  I  "  — Mucn  Ado  about  Nothing. 

"Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul?   and  why  art  thou  disquieted 
within  me  ?  "  —  David. 

°  To  talk  about  God's  having  anything  to  do 
with  the  diabolical  actions  that  have  disgraced  our 
land  for  the  last  four  years  is  nonsense,"  said  Aunt 
Amey  Benson  one  day,  soon  after  the  temporary 
triumph  of  the  Southrons  in  Tennessee,  in  the  autumn 
of  1863.  This  eccentric  lady  was  finishing  her  visit 
at  Mrs.  Granger's,  which  she  had  begun  months  before. 
The  home  of  this  niece  was  considered  by  her  a  con- 
venient stopping-place,  while  she  was  going  the  ad- 
jacent country  over  in  search  of  those  who  were  re- 
motely connected  with  herself,  or  any  of  the  relatives 
whom  she  had  once  visited.  She  fancied  sometimes 
that  ties  of  relationship  existed  between  herself  and 
people  who  cared  not  to  recognize  her  as  an  acquaint- 
ance, even. 

It  would  not  be  doing  Aunt  Amey  justice  to  say 
that  she  was  coarse  in  her  undue  familiarity,  for  this 
was  the  reverse  entirely,  with  her.  She  had  a  way  of 
saying  things  unlike  any  one  else.  She  would  some- 
times, when  angry,  use  very  unbecoming  expressions, 
yet  from  her  lips  they  fell  upon  the  ears  of  those  in 
her  society  with  less  of  coarseness  in  the  sound  than  as 
if  another  had  uttered  them.  Miss  Benson  professed 
to  be  a  Christian,  and  would  have  been  very  angry  with 


400  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

any  one  who  should  have  expressed  a  doubt  of  her 
piety ;  still,  she  would  often  find  fault  with  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  world's  Sovereign.  The  expression 
with  which  this  chapter  commences  is  one  of  the 
mildest  she  was  wont  to  indulge  ia,  for  there  was 
something  in  the  manner  and  life  of  Mrs.  Granger, 
which  often  restrained  her,  even  when  she  had  opened 
her  lips  to  utter  a  harsh,  unwomanly  speech. 

She  remained  silent  for  some  little  time  after  she 
had  spoken  the  sentence  before  quoted,  seemingly 
waiting  for  some  one  to  reply  ;  but  as  no  one  an- 
swered immediately,  she  went  on. 

"  I  grow  madder  and  more  mad  every  day  ;  the  men 
at  Washington  act  like  a  pack  of  fools.  They're 
afraid  the  Rebels  will  get  hurt ;  and  if  the  Union 
army  whips  them  ever  so  little,  the  Government 
gives  them  sugar  plums  to  keep  them  from  feeling 
the  hurt  any,  and  while  this  is  going  on  at  the  capital, 
our  young  men  are  being  slaughtered  by  thousands  all 
over  the  land.  For  my  part,  I  don't  know  where  the 
overruling  power  is,  that  some  folks  talk  about.  There 
is  Mrs.  Saunders,  who  has  just  heard  of  the  death  of 
her  son,  Albert ;  what  can  comfort  her,  I  ask  ?  " 

"  The  grace  of  God  can  console  even  her  sorrowing 
heart,  Aunt  Amey,"  replied  Mrs.  Granger. 

"  Well,  I'd  like  to  know  how,  for  I  can't  see  any 
way  in  which  the  loss  of  that  son,  upon  whom  she 
was  dependent  for  her  support,  can  be  made  up  to 
her." 

"  Mrs.  Saunders  laid  Albert  upon  the  altar  of  her 
country  ;  he  did  not  go  without  her  consent.  She  had 
probably  counted  the  cost,  ere  he  left  her  ;  indeed,  I 
am  sure  she  had,  for  I  have  heard  her  say  so,  and,  as 


BE5.SIE    AJND    RAYMOND.  401 

she  is  a  Christian,  she  will  weep  over  her  fallen  son, 
without  murmuring,  and,  I  think,  with  a  feeling  of 
gratitude,  that  he  has  so  nobly  finished  his  work  on 
earth.  Albert  luved  his  Saviour,  God,  and  his  mother 
can  feel  that  he  is  now  resting  from  the  labor  and  tur- 
moil of  earth,  in  the  society  of  '  the  just  made  perfect 
in  heaven.'" 

"But,  Minnie  Granger,  you  haven't  heard  all  the 
particulars  in  regard  to  poor  Albert  Saunders,  else  you 
would  n't  feel  that  his  mother  could  be  comforted." 

"  I  must,  Aunt  Amey,  ever  believe,  that  '  earth  has 
no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  heal ; '  still,  I  feel  that 
the  circumstances  connected  with  the  death  of  some 
friends  we  are  called  to  mourn  is  deeply  aggravat- 

wg." 

*!  Aggravating,  indeed!  that  word  doesn't  express 
half  the  terrible  meaning  of  some  of  the  reliable  ac- 
counts that  reach  us  from  those  who  have  had  friends 
imprisoned  on  Belle  Island.  Albert  Saunders  was 
one  of  the  sufferers  in  that  abominable,  filthy,  devilish, 
tormenting  place." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  abound  in  superlatives,  auntie," 
said  Minnie  ;  "I  feel  very  much  indeed  for  the  Union 
prisoners  who  have  lately  been  brought  to  Annapolis  ; 
my  heart  bleeds  at  thought  of  them  ;  but  it  will  not 
better  their  condition  to  apply  hard  names  to  persons 
or  places." 

"  Well,  you  can  handle  the  Rebels  and  their  hellish 
holes  tenderly  in  talking  of  them,  if  you  like,  but  I 
believe  as  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  once  said  he 
did ;  that  it  is  best  to  call  spades,  spades,  and  corrup- 
tion, corruption.  When  anything  is  devilish,  I  am  de- 
termined to  call  it  so  ;  and  you,  young  Miss  Minnie, 
34* 


402  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

can  talk  about  superlatives  as  much  as  you  please,  it 
won't  alter  my  mind  at  all." 

"  Aunf  Amey,"  said  Mrs.  Granger,  "  let  us  call  on 
Mrs.  Saunders  to-day.     Will  you  go  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  say  something  you  won't  like,  if  I 
go  with  you,  Minnie,  for  it  appears  your  daughter 
doesn't  like  my  phraseology." 

"  Don't  lay  this  expression  of  my  taste  up  against 
me,  will  you,  auntie  ?  "  expostulated  Minnie.  "  I  had 
better  have  kept  silent  than  said  what  I  did  to  you 
just  now,  you  are  so  many  years  my  senior,  that  it 
wasn't  a  bit  pretty  in  me  to  speak  so." 

"  Well,  well,  child  that  you  are,  I  suppose  I  shall 
forgive  you  this  time,  and  a  great  many  more  times 
beside  this,  for  we  never  do  agree  in  matters  of  taste, 
unless  it  is  in  respect  to  flowers,  which  we  both  love." 

Mrs.  Granger,  accompanied  by  her  aunt  sought  the 
dwelling  of  Mrs.  Saunders  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
afternoon  of  that  same  day.  They  found  this  afflicted 
mother  sorrowing  deeply,  yet  she  murmured  not. 
"  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away,  and 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,"  said  she,  when  re- 
fering  to  the  great  loss  she  had  sustained  in  the  death 
of  Albert.  "  I  should  not  have  chosen  the  suffering 
for  my  loved  one,  which  he  was  obliged  to  endure, " 
remarked  she  meekly,  while  speaking  of  his  incarcera- 
tion in  prison,  "but  I  left  everything  concerning  my 
darling  to  God,  and  I  am  satisfied  with  what  He  has 
chosen  for  me." 

"You  don't  mean  that  you  are  reconciled  to  the 
thought  that  your  son  suffered  from  hunger,  do  you  ? 
if  so,  you  are  destitute  of  a  mother's  feelings  for  a 
child,  I  am  sure,"  said  Aunt  Amey. 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  403 

"  I  don't  mean  that  I  love  to  think  that  he  suffered 
at  all,  when  I  look  only  to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  suf- 
ferer. The  contemplation  of  suffering  always  distresses 
me,  even  if  the  victim  is  a  stranger.  I  am  not  with- 
out maternal  feelings,  Miss  Benson,  but  believe  me, 
there  is  a  power  that  can  enable  even  a  mother  to 
triumph  over  the  doting  fondness  of  her  heart,  in 
cheerfully  sacrificing  the  dearest  object  of  her  love, 
when  duty  calls." 

"I  confess,"  responded  Aunt  Amey,  "I  don't 
understand  such  lofty  logic,  it  is  altogether  above  my 
limited  powers  of  comprehension ;  still,  I  think  I  have 
quite  an  amount  of  sense  that  is  common." 

"You  style  yourself  a  Christian,  aunt,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Granger,  "  and  you,  too,  depend  upon  your  good 
works  for  salvation.  This  last  is  what  I  cannot  do,  yet 
I  am  not  puzzled  at  all  by  the  views  expressed  by  our 
afflicted  friend.  Like  her,  I  feel  that  the  assurance  given 
us  by  God,  is  to  be  relied  upon  in  any  emergency. 
When  I  read  the  consoling  promise  He  has  made  in 
the  words,  '  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee/  my  spirit 
becomes  hopeful ;  it  is  only  when  Christians  forget 
that  God  is  the  immutable  rock  of  their  strength,  that 
they  despond." 

"  I  have  learned  by  experience  that  what  you  have 
said  is  true,"  replied  Mrs.  Saunders.  "When  the 
news  reached  me  of  the  death  of  my  Albert,  it  came 
like  a  thunderbolt.  I  knew  before,  that  he  had  been 
sent  a  prisoner  to  Richmond,  and  that  afterwards  he 
had  been  removed  to  Belle  Island.  I  received  one 
letter  from  him,  after  he  arrived  at  that  dreadful  place, 
it  did  n't  surprise  me  that  this  letter  was  short.  The 
spirit  of  this  missive  was  more  cheerful  than  I  could 


404  BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND. 

have  expected,  though  it  was  evident  that  it  had  been 
penned  by  a  trembling  hand.  He  assured  me,  in  the 
few  words  which  he  then  wrote,  that  God  was  the 
'  strength  of  his  heart,  and  his  portion  forever ;  ' 
'then/  added  he,  'why  need  I  fear  what  man  can 
do  unto  me,  since  I  can  trust,  and  not  be  afraid,  even 
of  the  wrath  of  our  erring,  God-forgetting  brethren  at 
the  South/ 

"  The  accounts  in  respect  to  the  suffering  of  our  pris- 
oners have  been  so  contradictory,  that  they  have  in- 
spired hope  and  fear,  alternately.  I  did  at  times  fear 
that  my  darling  son  might  experience  the  horrors  of 
starvation ;  still,  I  would  not  indulge  such  a  feeling  for 
a  moment.  That  he  would  become  an  invalid,  during 
the  remainder  of  his  life,  I  thought  very  probable,  for 
I  cannot  see  how  any  of  the  half-famished  men  who 
are  held  captive  for  even  a  few  weeks  by  the  Rebels, 
are  to  recover  the  strength,  wasted  by  living  as  they 
are  obliged  to  live  in  those  loathsome  prisons.  I  have 
always  dreaded  imprisonment  for  Albert,  more  than 
the  balls  or  shells  of  the  enemy. " 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Mrs.  Granger. 

"  And  I  have  also,"  remarked  Aunt  Amey,  "  but  at 
this  moment  I  am  anxious  to  hear  all  that  Mrs.  Saun- 
ders has  to  say  of  her  son.  I  am  reminded  forcibly  by 
what  she  has  already  said,  of  my  loved  and  fallen 
nephew,"  and  Miss  Benson  wiped  her  fast-flowing 
tears  as  she  spoke.  "  I  know  your  story  must  be  a 
sad  one,  and  it  will  pain  you  to  tell  it ;  still,  it  will  in- 
terest me,  and,  I  doubt  not,  my  niece  also." 

"  I  need  not  assure  Mrs.  Saunders  that  I  feel  the 
most  intense  interest  in  regard  to  her  loved  son  ;  she 
has  long  known  that  I  feel  deeply  for  every  loyal  sol- 


BESSIE   AND   RAYMOND.  405 

dier,  whether  they  suffer  much  or  little ;  then  how 
much  more  must  I  feel  for  this  interesting  young  man, 
who  is  so  dear  to  my  friend." 

"  I  know,  Mrs  Granger,  that  the  last  message  sent 
to  ma  by  my  noble  boy,  will  delight  you.  It  was  this. 
1  Though  I  shall  die  probably  without  seeing  you 
again,  my  dear  mother,  I  hope  you  will  thank  God 
that  you  had  a  loved  son  to  give  to  your  bleeding 
country.  My  soul  is  stayed  upon  God,  my  Saviour, 
and  I  am  strong  to  endure  ;  I  trust  you  to  His  care. 
My  bodily  strength  fails,  so  I  must  say  farewell  for  a 
little  time.  We  shall  soon  meet  in  the  presence  of 
Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  my  King,  my  all  in  all.' 

'  Albert  Saunders.'  " 

November,  1863. 

When  the  reading  of  this  note  was  concluded,  Mrs. 
Saunders  looked  up  and  perceived  that  her  auditors 
were  both  weeping  with  her. 

"  What  a  priceless  legacy  your  son  has  left  you," 
said  Mrs.  Granger,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with 
strong  emotion. 

"That  is  true;  a  world,  in  comparison  with  these 
few  lines,  would  be  valueless  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Saun- 
ders. 

"He  appeared  to  be  carried  above  his  situation  by 
his  faith  in  God,"  said  Aunt  Amey.  "  I  must  confess 
that  I  am  a  stranger  to  such  faith  as  is  manifested  in 
that  dying  message  ;  I  wish  I  had  even  a  little  of  it." 

"  You  and  I  may  have  it,  for  the  asking,"  said  the 
weeping  mother. 

"  Than  it  must  be  that  you  have  asked  for  it,  for  it 
seems  that  you  are  held  up,  now,  by  a  kind  of  faith  I 


406  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 

have  never  exercised  ;  "  and  Aunt  Aniey  looked  down 
as  she  spoke,  and  seemed  to  be  taking  views  of  her- 
self, which  brought  a  feeling  of  sadness  to  her  heart, 
for  she  sighed  deeply  ere  she  spoke  again.  She  then 
remarked,  "I  will  try  and  read  my  Bible  without 
prejudice,  in  future.  I  have  always  been  bound  up 
in  the  belief  I  was  taught  in  infancy,  and  supposed 
those  who  believed  God  was  a  Sovereign  were  gloomy 
persons  ;  but  I  find  this  is  not  the  case  with  many." 

"  Were  it  not  for  my  belief  in  the  universal  control 
of  that  Being  who  notices  even  the  fall  of  the  little 
sparrow,  I  could  not  be  comforted  now,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Saunders. 

''Then  you  are  comforted,  although  your  earthly 
dependence  is  gone  ?  "  said  Aunt  Amey. 

"  Yes,  I  am  comforted  ;  for  I  am  enabled  to  lean 
upon  the  bosom  of  that  Saviour  to  whom  my  darling 
trusted  me  in  his  last  hours.  Those  hours  were,  I  be- 
lieve, brightened  by  the  presence  of  that  Almighty 
Friend,  whom  he  loved  and  served  in  life.  The  letter 
written  me  after  Albert's  death,  in  which  the  little 
missive  I  have  read  to  you  was  enclosed,  contained  a 
few  sentences  that  are  invaluable  to  me.  After  ac- 
quainting me  with  my  great  bereavement,  the  writer 
remarked,  — 

"  Your  affliction  is  great,  my  dear  madam,  but  you 
have  consolation  in  this  trial,  such  as  few  are  blessed 
with.  Your  son  was  a  whole  Christian  ;  he  sank  from 
exhaustion  into  the  arms  of  death  ;  but  he  never  mur- 
mured, never  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  hardly  dealt 
with.  Could  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Saunders,  witness 
the  suffering  I  have  seen  since  we  came  to  this  place, 
and  see  the  difference  between  those  who   are  Chris- 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  407 

tians,  and  those  who  arc  not  sustained  by  the  hopes 
the  gospel  affords,  you  would  be  incited  to  great  grat- 
itude, by  the  knowledge  that  your  son  was  supported 
by  the  promises  of  God,  until  his  spirit  returned  to 
Him  who  gave  it. 

"  Here  have  been  endured  the  sharpest  of  earthly 
sufferings  by  the  brave  men  and  boys,  who  have  been 
prisoners  on  Belle  Island,  until  almost  starved.  I 
blush  for  the  men,  at  the  South,  who  have  been  guilty 
of  this  monstrous  crime.  Some  have  died  literally 
from  starvation,  some  have  died  from  the  effects  of 
trying  to  eat,  while  their  stomachs  were  unfitted  by 
lung  fasting  to  receive  food,  and  some  poor  sufferers 
have  died  with  food  before  them,  which  they  could  not 
eat.  One  dear  youth,  a  mere  boy  of  sixteen,  was  made 
insane  by  hunger,  and  his  agonies  cannot  be  described. 
Strong  men  that  were,  writhed  in  agony,  after  they 
were  brought  here,  and  died  from  the  effect  of  the 
savage  treatment  they  had  received  at  the  hands  of 
those  by  whom  they  had  been  held  prisoners  of  war. 
In  contemplating  these  terrible  results  of  man's  de- 
pravity, one  is  led  to  ask  what  has  made  the  difference 
between  the  moral  acts  of  the  North  and  South  during 
this  war.  Why  are  the  Southrons  barbarous  in  their 
treatment  of  all  over  whom  thoy  have  power  ?  This 
question  is  forced  upon  every  reflecting  mind,  and 
must  be  answered,  yea,  xit  answers  itself. 

"I  have  ever  been  pro-slavery  in  my  views,  yet 
glaring  as  broad  daylight,  do  I  see  that  the  peculiar 
institution  of  the  South  has  been  a  curse  to  my 
Southern  brethren,  by  producing  in  them  a  hardness 
of  heart,  which  is  fast  carrying  them  back  to  the  hu- 
miliating barbarism  of  the  dark  ages.     Please  excuse 


408  BESSIE   AND    RAYMOND. 

me,  dear  lady,  if,  out  of  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  I  have 
written  of  that  which  does  not  personally  concern  you. 
I  would  write  more  of  your  brave  and  manly  Albert ; 
with  pleasure  I  state  the  fact,  that  he  was  gently 
dealt  with  at  the  last,  by  his  heavenly  Father,  in  com- 
parison with  most  of  his  fellows,  and  also  that  he  has 
left  his  patient  image  in  the  memory  of  many  a  man 
who  saw  him  on  his  death  couch.  I  am  unfit  to 
attempt  to  offer  you  comfort,  other  than  this  letter 
will  afford.  But  God  can^and  will,  I  trust,  bind  up 
your  broken  heart." 

Very  respectfully,  your  servant, 

r.  M.  J. 

"  He  need  not  have  said  that  which  implied  I  have 
not  a  personal  interest  in  the  sufferings  of  all  my  loyal 
countrymen,  for  I  feel  that  I  suffer  in  sympathy  with 
all  such." 

"  I'm  sure  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Granger,  "  and  I  agree 
with  his  views  in  regard  to  the  effect  of,  the  Southern 
institution  alluded  to.  I  pray  God  daily,  to  rid  my 
Southern  friends  from  the  scourge.  My  heart  bleeds 
at  the  thought  that  mortal  man  can  be  guilty  of  such 
acts,  as  the  Rebels  have  been  guilty  of  towards  the 
loyal  men  who  have  fallen  into  their  bauds.  Well 
may  humanity  weep  over  their  atrocities.  What 
motive  can  influence  them  to  keep  men  whom  they 
could  easily  parole  until  they  are  reduced  to  such  a 
lamentable  condition  ?" 

"It  cannot  be  any  better  motive  than  to  please 
their  old  master,  his  Satanic  Majesty,"  replied  Aunt 
Amey,  "  but  after  seeing  you  all  so  kindly  disposed 
towards  these  tenfold  murderers,  I  am  beginning  to 


BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND.  409 

feel  that  it  is  perhaps  better  to  pray  for  them,  than  to 
curse  them,  as  I  always  have  done,  so  I  '11  try  to  for- 
give them,  if  it  is  possible,  far  enough  to  ask  the 
Lord  to  give  them  better  hearts." 

"Our  Saviour  prayed  for  His  own  murderers,  and 
said  they  knew  not  what  they  did  ;  we  can  say  this 
of  our  Southern  brothers  and  sisters  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Saunders,  "and  Miss  Benson,"  she  continued,  "I 
want  you  to  feel  that  the  great  and  holy  Being  to 
whom  you  expect  to  trust  your  soul  throughout  eter- 
nity, is  worthy  to  be  trusted  with  the  management  of 
the  affairs  of  even  this  great  nation.  We  must  not  ask 
to  see  his  plans  ;  we  have  proof  upon  proof  that  he  is 
1  too  wise  to  err,  and  too  good  to  be  unkind.'  I  trust 
I  feel  this,  and  am  not  afraid  that  I  shall  ever  want 
anything  necessary  for  my  highest  good." 

"  Amen,"  said  Mrs.  Granger,  but  Aunt  Amey  was 
obliged  to  say,  "  I  believe  I  should  be  happier,  if  I 
could  say  amen  to  what  has  been  said  by  this  child  of 
affliction." 

We  hope  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  not  only 
Miss  Benson,  but  every  son  and  daughter  of  our 
country,  can  from  the  heart  join  in  one  hearty  amen ; 
when  it  shall  be  said  throughout  our  land 

"  Sound  the  loud  trump  o'er  the  wide-spreading  sea, 
Jehovah  has  triumphed,  our  country  is  free." 
35 


410  BESSIE    AND   RAYMOND. 


CONCLUSION. 

Now,  kind  reader,  you  and  the  writer  are  about  to 
part.  We  have  been  together  through  various  scenes 
which  have  occurred  since  our  country's  woes  began. 
We  have  looked  upon  life  as  it  is  in  this  land  at  the 
present  day. 

The  writer  would  be  glad  to  be  enabled  to  inform 
her  readers  that  Raymond  Philips  had  been  exchanged, 
and  that  he  and  Bessie  had  met  again  ;  met,  too,  under 
happy  auspices,  such  as  we  trust  they  will  some  day 
be  blest  with,  on  meeting  ;  but  we  may  not  finish  their 
history,  for  our  story  is  not  a  romance,  although  a 
degree  of  novelty  has  marked  the  pages  of  our  work. 
Bessie  has  sent  the  letter  to  Raymond  which  she  at 
first  was  so  afraid  would  not  be  treated  sacredly  by 
the  hands  through  which  it  must  pass,  to  reach  the 
friend  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  The  reception  of 
the  letter  has  filled  Raymond's  heart  with  joy. 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  is  helping  her  husband,  though  he  is 
now  at  Chattanooga  and  she  at  home.  She  aids  him 
by  her  cheerful  letters,  her  patience,  and  her  prayers. 
She  has  never  repented  having  consented  that  he 
might  serve  his  country  ;  neither  has  his  mother,  who 
very  recently,  in  a  letter  to  a  sister,  wrote  :  "  If  my 
son  shall  fall,  I  will  bless  God  that  he  has  been  worthy 
to  suffer  and  to  die  in  the  cause  of  liberty  and  right." 

Who  will  not  bless  God  that  our  loved  Union  lias 
many  mothers  like  Mrs.  Sedgwick  ?  Such  women  as 
she  is,  will  read  this  book  through  without  passing 


BESSIE    AND    RAYMOND.  411 

over  any  of  its  pages  with  disgust ;  we  are  confident 
of  the  sympathy  of  such  as  she,  and  we  would  love  to 
linger  in  their  company  ;  but  we  have  written  as  many 
pages  as  our  publisher  desires  at  this  juncture.  But  if 
our  readers  give  us  a  pleasant  hint  that  they  would 
like  to  hear  more  of  Bessie  and  Raymond,  and  some 
of  their  friends,  we  may  be  induced  to  offer  them  a 
sequel  to  our  story. 

We  have  redeemed  our  pledge  to  our  readers  now, 
and  offer  them  just  the  work  we  promised,  while  we 
crave  for  ourselves  their  kind  indulgence. 


insr  press. 


MUCH  THAT  I  DO  LIKE, 


AND 


MORE  THAT  I  DON'T  LIKE :" 

BEING   A    SEQUEL   TO 

"BESSIE  AND  RAYMOND;"   OR,  INCIDENTS  CONNECTED  WITH 
THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

This  work  will  be  one  of  great  interest,  as  it  not  only  follows  some  of  the  charac 
ters  in  "  Bessie  and  Raymond,"  but  also  introduces  new  characters.  The  work 
will  contain  412  pp.  12mo,  handsomely  printed  and  bound  in  cloth.     Price  $1.50. 


Also  in  press,  and  will  be  issued  soon, 

"KAYB  PKLYON,  §14  PBBP  AT  BBAUTIB8;" 

BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF 

"  Bessie  and  Raymond,"  "  Much  that  I  do  like,  and  more  that  I  don't  like,"  &c. 

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COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

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Wilmer 
1136 


